Defender (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 11)

by Christine Pope

“It’s okay,” Kate said. “It’s not like I haven’t thought the same thing. Although right now I’m trying to figure out…why Jeff? Why in the world would anyone want to kill him?”

  Sam pressed her pink-glossed lips together and shook her head. “I don’t have a clue.” She paused there for a few seconds, then lifted her shot glass and drank the tequila that remained. “Although…didn’t you say that he’d been doing some kind of online sports gambling?”

  “That was two years ago,” Kate pointed out. It made her feel a little calmer to be looking at the whole hideous situation with something resembling logic. That way, she could get her racing brain to slow down and attempt to work its way through the problem. “He told me he stopped.”

  “He told you,” Sam said, her tone very gentle. “But do you know for sure?”

  “I — ” Kate began, and hesitated. Truth was, she really didn’t know. Not for sure. Yes, they’d had a joint checking account for the household expenses, and she’d never seen anything strange there, but they each also had a separate personal account for their own little expenditures. Nothing major; Kate had never had more than a couple hundred dollars in her personal account. But who knew what might have been going on in Jeff’s? It wasn’t like she’d ever been able to see the balance. Gathering her breath, she went on, “You’re not suggesting that someone murdered Jeff because of online gambling debts?”

  Sam poured herself another shot of Cuervo. “I don’t know. It’s just the only thing I can think of that makes any sense.”

  And Sam was all about making sense. She’d been getting her master’s in microbiology at the same time Kate was working on her master’s in urban planning, and now split her time between working at a lab in North Scottsdale and teaching a few classes as an adjunct at the local community college. Sam wanted facts, numbers, data. She certainly wasn’t the type for wild hypotheses or conspiracy theories. And because her world was focused on order, not chaos, she probably didn’t want to entertain the notion that there might be a madman running around Scottsdale who got his rocks off by murdering people and then finger-painting — literally — with their blood.

  That last thought made Kate’s stomach heave, and she grabbed the bottle of Cuervo and poured herself some more. All right, logically she knew that throwing back shot after shot of tequila when her stomach was already upset probably wasn’t the best idea, but she supposed she hoped, somewhere in the back of her mind, that if she drank enough of the stuff, she might finally be able to blot out the hideous scene which now seemed imprinted on her mind, on the insides of her damn eyelids, so all she could see with her eyes open or shut was Jeff’s body sprawled on the floor of his condo, arcane symbols she couldn’t recognize painted all over the bare white walls.

  “Hey,” Sam said, her no-nonsense, problem-solving tone of a minute earlier gone, replaced by something much more gentle. “It’s horrible. I know. But getting drunk won’t help. Especially a tequila drunk. You’re going to have the mother of all hangovers tomorrow if you keep this up. Let me get you some water, order some takeout.”

  Kate’s stomach roiled again. “I couldn’t eat anything. I’d throw up.”

  “You say that, but you know you need food. When was the last time you ate?”

  “I had some yogurt at lunch.”

  A shake of Sam’s fiery head. “That’s not going to cut it. What sounds better? Chinese? Pizza?”

  “We can’t order anything in. Remember what Officer Manning said.”

  Her friend looked so crestfallen at that remark, Kate almost chuckled, despite everything. “Don’t despair. I kind of loaded up at Trader Joe’s the last time I went. There’s got to be something in the freezer, if you’re determined to feed me.”

  “That I can work with.”

  Sam got up from the couch — taking the bottle of Cuervo with her — and went into the kitchen. Kate stared at the half-inch of tequila left in her shot glass and wondered if she should drink it now or wait. Better now, she thought. Nothing I have on hand pairs all that well with tequila.

  What a stupid thing to be thinking, when her husband lay dead a few miles away. Were the investigators still working on the crime scene, or had they finally wrapped things up? She tried not to imagine Jeff’s body being carried out on a gurney, taken to the medical examiner’s van so they could cut him up even further.

  Her stomach lurched, and she gulped down the last bit of tequila. It really didn’t help all that much, but at least now it was gone.

  She sat there, listening as Sam bustled around in the kitchen, and stared at her living room, at the vertical blinds that concealed the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony, at the ficus in the corner by the front window, the cherished painting of the Superstition Mountains that Jeff complained she’d paid way too much for, but which she loved. Because of her guilt at leaving, she’d let him keep way more household stuff than she took, but that painting had come with her.

  It hurt, but as she tried very hard not to look at any one thing in particular, to not think of any one thing in particular, she realized part of the reason it hurt was because it didn’t hurt enough. Which she knew was a crazy thing to be thinking, but there it was. She and Jeff had been separated for months. She’d acknowledged to herself a long time ago — even as she tried not to say the words aloud to him, because they sounded so cruel — that she didn’t love him anymore, hadn’t loved him for some time. Even with all that, though, she had loved him once, and she thought she should be feeling more than she was right now. What had happened to Jeff was beyond horrible, and she could be shocked and grieving over such a brutal death…but it wasn’t grief over someone she loved. And that sounded absolutely dreadful.

  Sam came into the living room, a full glass of water in each hand. She set one of the glasses down, but extended the other toward Kate. “Here. You probably need this more than anything else.”

  Kate took the glass, sipped obediently. Then she placed it on a coaster.

  “What is it?” Sam asked. “You look — well, even worse than you did a few minutes ago, frankly.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that,” Kate returned, a wan smile touching her lips.

  “Sorry. But….”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m just wondering if I’m a horrible person because I’m not feeling much of anything right now.”

  Sam frowned slightly. “It’s perfectly natural for you to be in shock. I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

  “It’s more than that. It’s….” Kate paused there, wondering how much she should say. Yes, she and Sam had been friends for almost four years now, and they’d been through a lot together, but what would Sam think if Kate openly confessed that she didn’t feel as deeply shocked and grieved as she should be?

  Her friend was looking at her with such worry that Kate knew she had to say something. If such revelations made Sam think less of her, well, there wasn’t much she could do about that. But she hated secrets. It had been hard enough to keep the truth about her sister-in-law’s family from everyone Kate knew, even her own parents.

  But Colin had begged her, had explained that the witch clans had only survived this long by keeping their true natures hidden from the rest of the world, and how on earth was she supposed to say no to that? Anyway, she had a feeling their parents wouldn’t have believed a word of it without a proper demonstration of some sort of magical ability, and no way was Colin going to ask his wife or any of her relatives to perform tricks on command. Kate was close to her parents, and keeping secrets from them was not something she was at all comfortable with. However, difficult as it was for her to remain silent, she could see how important it was to Colin, and so she hadn’t argued, had tucked the knowledge away as best she could.

  At any rate, as soon as Kate had come to terms with the shift in her feelings toward Jeff, she’d been up front with him, hadn’t tried to pretend the situation was anything but what it was. Because they were estranged, it had been easy enough not to say anything about the McAllis
ters — or the other witch clans that apparently existed in Arizona — but she’d almost slipped a few times in front of Sam.

  And here she was thinking about witches, simply because it was a lot easier than trying to focus on the problem at hand. Still, she’d rather Sam knew the ugly truth about her. At least that way she wouldn’t have to hide what she was feeling.

  “It’s just that I’m upset about what happened to Jeff, and horrified, but I’m not…grieving, if you know what I mean. We were still married, but he wasn’t my husband anymore. I know that sounds terrible.”

  In response, Sam leaned over and hugged Kate, the embrace strong and fierce. “No, it sounds normal. You didn’t love Jeff anymore. Why should you feel the same way as someone who lost a husband, a boyfriend, a lover? Your relationship was totally different. You can’t judge yourself now because of the way you once felt about him. What happened is horrible, and I pray to God they catch whoever did this and lock them up forever, but you can’t beat yourself up for not rending your garments and rubbing ashes in your hair. Or whatever it was that people used to do when they were in mourning.”

  That comment made Kate smile weakly. She disentangled herself from her friend’s embrace and said, “I don’t remember. Anyway, I don’t have so many garments that I can afford to ‘rend’ any of them.” That was only the truth. Yes, her job with the city planner’s department paid well, but the apartment wasn’t cheap, and the payments for her student loans were truly horrifying. She figured if she kept to a strict budget and didn’t encounter any insane expenses along the way, she might be rid of those loans by the time she was forty. Maybe.

  “Well, then.” Sam paused for a moment before adding, “Everyone handles shock and grief differently. You’re going through enough without guilting yourself into thinking you should behave a certain way.”

  Very sensible advice. Maybe it was even true. Kate knotted her hands in her lap and stared down at the now-bare ring finger of her left hand. She’d taken off her engagement ring and wedding band some months earlier, and now wore on her right hand the white gold and diamond cigar-band ring that had once belonged to her grandmother. Why Grandma Delores had left it to her, rather than her mother, Kate didn’t know. But she was glad of it, proud of how it looked on her finger. People tended to notice it, rather than the absence of any wedding rings on her left hand. At least she’d started her job after she and Jeff had separated, so no one at work really knew her as anyone except “Kate Campbell.” It made life so much easier.

  Not that it was going to be all that easy to go into work and try to explain to everyone that her estranged husband had been brutally murdered. She wouldn’t be able to cover it up, though. Detective Sandoval’s advice came back to her, that maybe she should take the day off. Her six-month anniversary at the job had come and gone, so at least she could take a day if she needed to. But what was she supposed to do with a day off? Sit around the apartment and brood? When things had gotten bad with Jeff, she used to get in her car and just drive, heading out into the desert so she could be alone with her thoughts. That option was denied her now, until the Scottsdale P.D. returned her car to her. She couldn’t really afford a rental. Besides, wouldn’t that look suspicious, to rent a car and drive out into the Sonoran Desert just so she could get her head screwed on straight?

  The toaster oven made the bing noise that signaled it had gotten to the end of a cycle, and Sam excused herself to go into the kitchen. Kate remained where she was, although part of her was thinking that she should really get up and help her friend. But no, Sam would just tell her to sit down and let herself be waited on, so Kate didn’t move, only sat there and twisted the ring on the middle finger of her right hand while Sam got things ready.

  A few minutes later, she emerged with a plate full of various appetizers — mini quiches, and cut-up pieces of phyllo pastry with mushroom, and macaroni and cheese balls. Kate looked at the plate and raised an eyebrow. “You expect me to eat all that?”

  “Not all of it,” Sam replied imperturbably. “Just half. I’ll take care of the rest.” She set the plate down on the coffee table, handed a paper towel to Kate, and then settled herself back on the couch and spread another makeshift napkin across her lap.

  To Kate’s surprise, everything looked good. It smelled good, too. She picked up a mini quiche, blew on it, and popped it into her mouth. Yes, that tasted good as well. Total comfort food, which was what she needed right then.

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Sam asked, “Do you know when you’re going to get your car back?”

  Kate set down a half-eaten piece of phyllo pastry. “Officer Manning made it sound as if it might be sometime tomorrow, but I don’t know for sure. It’s annoying, because Detective Sandoval basically told me that I wasn’t a suspect. But I guess they just want to be thorough. Anyway, they’re supposed to call me when they’re done…whenever that ends up being. Just another reason to stay home tomorrow, I suppose.”

  “It’s better if you do,” Sam said. “I know you probably want to act like everything is normal, but it’s not, and you need to take care of yourself. I’d drive you, but I’ve got an eight o’clock class tomorrow, and it’s on the opposite side of town from city hall.”

  “It’s fine,” Kate replied. “I think I will take the day off.” Her apartment needed to be cleaned anyway. A few hours of mindless scrubbing might be just what the doctor ordered.

  “Good.” Then Sam shifted on the couch, the leather creaking slightly. “Do you need me to call your parents?”

  Oh, God. Of course they would have to be called — and Colin, too. For all she knew, he’d been texting her for the last half hour, trying to find out what had happened after she dropped off the divorce papers. Well, she’d let the food soak up most of the tequila before she dived into any of those obligations. It wasn’t even that late yet — not even nine o’clock. They probably wouldn’t think there was anything strange about getting a call at that hour.

  “No,” Kate said. “It’s all right. I’ll call in a little bit. And — and I guess I’d better call Nancy.”

  Nancy Nichols was Jeff’s mother. She lived up in Anthem, and hadn’t said two words to Kate since the separation.

  “Don’t you dare call her,” Sam said, her pretty features hardening with dislike. “The woman called you a bitch, remember?”

  Oh, Kate remembered that incident all too well. At least Nancy had done it over the phone instead of name-calling her to her face, but still, it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

  “Besides,” Sam went on, “the police would have contacted her, since she’s the next of kin. You don’t need to get involved, at least not right now.”

  Possibly she should have protested further, but Kate didn’t have the energy right then. She and Nancy had never gotten along very well, since her mother-in-law had made it clear that she didn’t think Kate was good enough for her precious boy. Mostly Kate had done what she could to stay out of the way, which was easy enough while going to school full-time and working as a T.A. to earn some income on the side. Inwardly, though, she couldn’t help blaming Nancy for some of Jeff’s more obvious character flaws. A single mother, she’d dealt with her situation by over-compensating, by giving Jeff basically every damn thing he wanted and waiting on him hand and foot. He’d expected pretty much the same treatment from his wife, taking it for granted that she’d handle the cooking and cleaning and shopping, even though she was putting in sixty-hour weeks at school.

  Oh, well. He still hadn’t been able to comprehend the true reason for Kate’s walking out, that she’d gotten fed up with being treated more as a servant than a wife. And there was no way in hell she could ever tell the truth to Nancy, because Nancy would have viewed any such statements as an attack on her parenting skills. Kate had been as diplomatic as she could in explaining why she’d left, saying only that she and Jeff had gotten married too young and that they were two different people now, but Nancy still didn’t want to hear any of it. Th
at was when the “bitch” remark had been trotted out, accompanied by the oh-so-friendly adjective of “selfish.”

  So Kate was all too happy to let the police handle Nancy. At some point there would be funeral arrangements and all the messiness of clearing out Jeff’s condo, but for now, Kate would keep her distance. One slightly cheering thought was that both Colin and their mother hated Nancy like poison — Liam Campbell, Kate’s father, hadn’t interacted with Nancy as much, and therefore was more neutral on the subject — and would be only too happy to go to bat to protect Kate.

  “Okay,” she allowed. “You’re right. That’s one conversation I’d rather not have.”

  “Good.” Sam helped herself to a macaroni and cheese ball, and chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “I know this is going to be hard, but you need to turn your brain off for a while. Let’s see what’s on Netflix and just tune out for the rest of the evening.”

  “I’ll still have to call my parents, and Colin.”

  “True, but eat first and watch one show. If nothing else, it’ll help to get the tequila out of your system before you call them.”

  That sounded like a plan. Kate couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t still break down while talking to her mother or her brother, but it would give her some time to collect herself. She really couldn’t ask for much more right now.

  “All right,” she said. The world might still blow up in her face the next day, but she’d take this moment while she could. Sufficient to the day, as her grandmother used to say.

  Yes, this day had definitely had its own share of evil. About all she could do was hope that the worst was over.

  4

  Jack Sandoval stared down at the photographs spread across his desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose. By that point, it was past midnight, and he should have been off shift, but he really didn’t feel like going back to his apartment. Not with something this disturbing staring him in the face.

  The symbols were much clearer in the photos than they’d appeared on the walls of Jeff Nichols’ apartment. Ian had done some retouching in Photoshop, it looked like, before he printed out the images for Jack to inspect. Although he didn’t know the individual meanings of all those sigils, Jack could tell now more than ever that they were evil. Tomorrow he’d have to start talking to people in his clan, but for now he was just trying to piece together what had happened, based on the scanty evidence they had so far.