“I’m still not following.” Agent King made it sound like Richard Bishop was some loose cannon with no official ties, but I still sympathized with Bishop’s situation. “While I know it’s not illegal charm trafficking, finding missing kids is important. He was straight-forward and professional when he stopped by this morning. I don’t see any reason why we can’t share information on this case, especially if the IPD is involved.”
“Absolutely not. What was his interest in Scott Malone? And what exactly did you share with him? You didn’t give him the charm, did you?” he asked, the accusation clear in his tone.
I rose from my chair, insulted by his insinuations. “I didn’t tell him anything. I know protocol, and I don’t appreciate being interrogated. Now if there’s nothing else, I have work to do. If you come by tomorrow, I’ll have processed the bodies and have my final report ready for you.”
“I don’t understand why this is taking you so long. The accident was last night. I would have expected everything to be in order by now.”
“We’re a small town, and a car accident didn’t exactly constitute an emergency. Now that I know there’s a criminal investigation and a potential kidnapping, I’ll put this on the top of my list.”
“I wish I had known this before I made the trip,” he said under his breath.
“Well, next time call ahead.” I lost all pretense of keeping the professional facade up. Opening the door, I gestured to the hall. “I’m sorry you wasted your time.”
“I’m headed back to Indy. I’ll be sure to call tomorrow afternoon before I return. That should give you plenty of time to do your job.” Tension floated in his wake as he strode out.
Arrogant prick, I thought, resisting the sudden urge to throw something at the back of his head. Seething, I stalked down the hall.
This case had turned into a clusterfuck, and it was about time I figured out what was actually going on. An illegal charms dealer. A potential kidnapping. The Order and the FPD. And to top it off, three people had insinuated I wasn’t doing my job. I was tired of this case already. I needed to spend time with the victims. They wouldn’t be able to lie or mislead me.
I flagged down Charlie. “I’ll be downstairs. Have Dan handle the calls for the rest of the day. I’ll be there awhile.”
I took the stairs in the back and unlocked the door to the prep room. Before heading in, I slipped off my rings, dropping them into a small dish I kept by the entrance, and pulled on my lab coat, donned a large apron, and grabbed a pair gloves. The basement was frigid. It wasn’t heated, and the cold January air seeped in through the walls.
I took a moment to get acclimated before turning on the radio. The mellow sound of Yo-Yo Ma’s cello filled the room, echoing off the cinder blocks.
“Let’s see if I can get some answers.” I opened the door to the refrigerated storage center. Flush with the south wall, a casket draped with a crisp white sheet waited for Saturday’s visitation. Along the other wall, the two accident victims lay on mortuary trays awaiting my inspection.
A large cardboard box marked “personal effects” sat next to the cart. I thought that was as good a place as any to begin.
I emptied the box and sorted through the items: an overnight bag, wallet, keys, and jewelry. Nothing jumped out and screamed “evil kidnapping thug.”
The wallet contained a couple of credit cards and an ID. The blank face of Scott Malone stared back at me from the license. I set the wallet aside.
The few pieces of jewelry were just as commonplace. A small obsidian disk, an ear gauge that held a trace of power. Many witches used piercings to hold their charms. Years ago, it had been just earrings, but now it wasn’t unusual to find charmed tongue studs or enchanted lip rings. The disk was a simple channel charm. Nothing the FPD might be interested in. Next, I picked up a gold ring with a wide flat band. The etching on the band hummed to life when I touched it, and power radiated in every direction. The surge shocked me. Reflexively I jerked back and the ring fell from my hand, clattering to the table. The rhythmic tone echoed through the room as it made lazy circles on the stainless steel, in perfect time with the cello’s mournful notes.
That certainly wasn’t what I’d expected. I pulled a foil bag out of my collection kit and dropped the ring inside. Until I knew what the ring did, I wanted to be safe. I pulled out a marker and drew a symbol similar to a lock. With just a bit of will, I touched the symbol and sealed the bag.
I rarely ran across magical charms in Sycamore Springs. The small trinkets I came across were normally novelty charms. Those you’d pick up in the city or on vacation. Simple glamour charms were popular, as were birth control charms. But those were simple spells, nothing like the power emitted by the ring. That earlier feeling of unease returned. I would bet this was what Agent King was looking for.
I moved to examine the body. At forty-seven, Scott Malone had been a formidable man. His muscular chest was covered with tattoos that read like a story. The tree trunk was wound throughout with strength glyphs. The north wind hid a force spell. The wide, grinning teeth on his right shoulder had me stumped, though. I examined that one closer looking through my magnifying lamp, and found it. Obfuscation.
I moved the lamp and looked again. The Cheshire cat? I guess Mr. Malone had a sense of humor, as well as a criminal history.
Taken together, the tattoos painted a picture of a man that commanded a great deal of power and had something to hide.
With the physical examination over, I was ready to do a full reading. I laid my hands over his eyes and pushed out my will. Images flashed through my mind, and I focused on the night of the accident.
Dark country road. Urgent. Nervous. Fear? A girl’s voice. I turned to look. Sarah in the passenger's seat yelling. Suddenly, white hot pain. Something struck me from behind. More yelling. Darkness.
Scott Malone died before the accident. I took a deep breath to clear my head. This just added another layer to the puzzle. Turning his head to the side, I could see the gash and indentation at the back of his skull. That would have been easy to miss, assuming the injury occurred during the crash, but I knew now Malone had been dead before the car ran off the road.
But I still didn’t know what had caused the head trauma. I looked to the young woman, hoping she held the answers.
Because I had removed the charm I knew it would be safe to touch her. I placed my hands over her eyes, and the last moments of her life unfolded.
Fear, helplessness. She grabbed his hand and pulled something from it. “Now,” she yelled. Desperation rising. She turned to the back seat. A figure crouched in the back. Blur of motion. Screaming. Darkness.
I took a step back on unsteady legs. The CD had come to an end, and the room was filled with an eerie silence. Readings usually clarified things for me, but I had more questions now than before. More than anything else, I was shocked. I couldn’t believe another person walked away from that accident.
I went to my workstation in the other room and dialed the number the FPD agent had left. There was a short pause and then a beep. And I thought I had issues. Agent King could benefit from a class in social skills.
“This is Olivia Harmon. I have some new developments in the Malone case I’d like to speak to you about. I have a funeral tomorrow, so if you could meet me at my house after work, I’d appreciate it. I’d like to be able to talk without being disturbed.” I left the address and some basic directions.
I retrieved the box of personal effects and the case file and was heading for the door when I heard Charlie coming down the stairs, her steps echoing in the still air.
She peeked around the door and grinned. “It’s getting late and I just locked up. You should call it a night.” Her expression softened when she got a closer look at me. “Are you all right?” she asked.
I tried to shake off the murky feelings that still clouded my mind. “Is it that late? Crap, I have to call Brad.”
“Oh, he called about a half hour ago. I told him you would have to
reschedule.” A worried expression crossed her face. “Please tell me you aren’t thinking of going back to that.”
“No,” I sighed, grateful I wouldn’t have to face that complication today. “I was thinking about calling it off anyway. You just saved me the hassle.” I switched off the light and followed her up. “I really meant what I said earlier. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned back to face me. A pained look crossed her face so quickly I thought I’d imagined it.
“Olive, you’re my family. I’ve loved every minute we’ve had together. I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m not sure I’d know what to do without you. This case has me worried. Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will, I promise.” Her sudden warning left me cold, and I suddenly didn’t feel like being alone tonight. “Do you mind if I stay for dinner? It’s been awhile since we’ve caught up, and I could use the company.”
We’d lived together for years, but last year she thought it was time to get her own place. She argued that people around town were starting to talk, and I didn’t need another reason for the town to gossip. But I thought (and still think) Zoe was the real reason, so I didn’t argue.
I helped her move into the apartment over Armstrong’s. She had more independence and was closer to Zoe, and I had my house to myself. I didn’t mind living alone, but when I had a night like tonight, I missed her company.
“Sure thing,” she said. “We can do spaghetti like Gran use to make.”
I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Friday night. Good friend and home-cooked food. What more could I ask for?
SIX
January fifteenth
The small apartment over Armstrong’s Funeral Home served as Charlie’s oasis from the mundane world. The whole place had a bohemian vibe, with a riot of colors and rich smells. Downstairs, she was organized to the point of being obsessive, but here, Charlie was in her natural element. She called it organized chaos, but I’d jokingly termed her style “post-modern burglarized.” If someone actually broke in, it would be hard to tell. Drawers hung open, and piles of papers littered the floor as though the apartment had already been ransacked. Stacks of books covered every surface, and posters of art films and punk bands papered the walls. I figured it was a rebellion against the order she created downstairs.
I flopped down on the nearest overstuffed sofa and made myself at home while she cooked dinner. In less than an hour she came out with two heaping plates of spaghetti, and for just a moment I was transported back in time. Friday nights were always spent around a big table with Gran, sharing stories. Those simple moments were what I missed most. Now that we were adults, our lives seemed rushed, barreling forward without pause.
Despite my melancholy, we kept the conversation light through dinner, but Charlie wasn’t about to let me off the hook. She waited until I’d finished soaking up the last of the spaghetti sauce before she broke her silence and demanded answers.
"Okay, spill it. What's going on?"
There was so much going on I wasn’t sure where to start. The case I was working on had turned into a jurisdictional nightmare in less than twenty-four hours. But I didn’t want to talk about the case. The charmed necklace and the ring still bothered me. She might even be able help, but the thought of getting Charlie involved with such dark magic had my stomach turning in knots, so I tried to put her off.
“I’ll help with the dishes,” I said, grabbing the nearest plate and heading to the kitchen.
“Not so fast.” She yelled at my back and stalked in behind me.
So much for the duck-and-run tactic. The kitchen was small, and I felt cornered. And I could tell by that determined glint in her eyes she wasn’t going to let the issue drop.
"It's this case,” I said, and turned to fill the sink. I worried my bottom lip and placed the dishes in the soapy water before looking back at her. “For the first time since I started working for the coroner's office, I feel out of my depth. I’m not sure what to do next.” Before I knew it, I'd gone over everything that had happened in the last two days.
“I’ve never felt magic like this before. There was a familiar resonance, but at the same time it was off. But the worst part is I can’t seem to shake it. I can still feel the energy clinging to me.” I shivered as the echo of tonight’s reading came back. “I called in the FPD, and the Order seems interested in the deaths as well. Agent King was pissed that I talked to the inspector, and Rick, Inspector Bishop...Well, I think there’s a lot more to his involvement than a few missing girls. It’s like there's this whole other game being played and no one bothered to tell me the rules." I picked up a plate and began to wash it.
"Take a step back,” Charlie finally said, taking the plate out of my hand. “This is a lot of information to process in one day. I get the impression that both King and Bishop are trying to do what's right. You just happen to be stuck in the middle of things. Don’t let them push you around. Remember, as coroner, you’re in charge until you release the bodies. That means you call the shots. Make them work together." As usual, Charlie was able to wade through all the confused and complicated facts and come up with just the right thing to say.
"You're right. Their personal issues aren’t my problem. I’ve asked King to meet with me tomorrow. I’ll call and have Bishop join us. Stopping the illegal charms is important, especially if they are anything like the charms I encountered, but there’s a missing girl to take into account. We need to find that girl before it’s too late.”
"I think that’s a fabulous plan. You need to get Rick Bishop involved. He plays a bigger role in this than you realize." Charlie went back to collecting dishes, seemingly finished with the conversation.
I processed her last words while I rinsed the plates, handing them to her so she could fill the washer. As she loaded the dishes, she began to hum and sway. “You know, I’ll put on some tea, and we’ll figure something out.” To her, tea was the universal cure-all.
Leaving Charlie to her tea ritual, I walked over to the stereo and flipped through some CDs until I found an old Portishead album. I slipped it in and let the eerie noir sound fill the room. The pulsing bass and anguished vocals seemed to fit my mood. The melodic sounds, moving from near silence to unrestricted bedlam, mimicked my own tumultuous thoughts.
Charlie joined me in the living room with two large cups of tea in hand. Shoving one at me, she toasted. “To lies, deception, murder. A mystery Order hunk and the FPD’s muscle. I love a juicy thriller. It makes life feel more like a Robert Ludlum novel, and this town could use a little drama.” She took a big sip.
I glanced up to the ceiling looking for some guidance from above, but none came. The sweet smell of bergamot filled the air, and I took a deep breath over the cup. With a defeated sigh, I sipped my tea. “I don’t know, maybe I can get them to work together. I think both the Order and the FPD can accomplish what they need, I will get this case off my desk, and we could find this missing girl. It’s a win for everyone.”
“See? No problem. You can figure out how to make this work. The missing girl is the key,” she said and took a sip of her tea.
I eyed her, getting the impression she knew a lot more than she was letting on. “What’s up? You’re extremely interested in this case.”
”It just seems like a coincidence, don’t you think?” She offered no further explanation.
“What do you mean a coincidence?” I pressed the issue.
She sipped her tea again. “Another teen from out of town found dead. Three in less than a year? Something connects these cases. I can see a common thread winding through each death. And then there’s the dark presence. It’s more defined and seems settled over you and these kids.”
There it was again. That talk of a dark presence. She was holding something back, and if it involved the case I needed to know what it was.
“Charlie,” I said, snapping her back to the here and now. “You’re babbling in prec
og again.”
“Sorry.” She downed the rest of her tea and stood, taking her cup and a couple of stray junk mail envelopes from the table. Anxiety cleaning was one of her tells. This was bothering her more than she was letting on.
“Charlie,” I said, softer. “Just tell me what’s going on.”
“I’m not sure how to make it easier to understand,” she said before walking to the kitchen. Charlie explained once that being a precognizant was like standing in front of hundreds of televisions all tuned to different channels. Hundreds of choices, hundreds of outcomes. The key was picking up on the patterns. The good ones could tell the future with surprising accuracy. And Charlie was exceptionally good.
When she returned, her eyes held a haunted expression that worried me. Concern creased her brow, and she shook her head. “Olivia, this isn’t good. You’re headed down a dangerous path. Please listen to Rick. There’s something about him, about his presence here, that’s important. He alters things. I just hope it’s enough.”
The dead cadence of her voice sent a chill down my spine, and I had the overwhelming desire to change the subject. “Damn it, Charlie,” I said with a false cheer. “How come you never see us winning the lottery? We could take the money and head to Mexico and spend our old age drinking mojitos on the beach.” My laugh rang false even to my own ears.
“Sorry I didn’t subscribe to the fairy tale channel,” she said, trying to play along, but the darkness still lingered.
We finished cleaning up in silence. The velvet crooning that echoed from the radio an apt interloper. As I collected my stuff to leave a heavy weight settled in my chest again. I wasn’t looking forward to going back to my empty house, especially after her grand proclamation about darkness and danger. I flopped back onto the sofa, delaying the trip. “What did you think of the special agent?”
“Samuel?” An evil smile spread across her face, and I was glad to see the carefree Charlie return. “He’s something, all right. I love straight-laced men. They’re so much fun to break. The law,” she said, batting her eyelashes with a mock fangirl sigh. “Lawmen are dreamy. Well, not all of them. Definitely not Brad.” She made a gagging noise, reverting back to adolescence.
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 181