Yuletide Homicide

by Jennifer David Hesse

  With my decision made, I moved quickly. I cleared off the round table and dragged it away from the wall. Then I cast about the small room for items I could use in my ritual. I needed something to represent each of the four elements. I looked at my desk and eyed my purple amethyst, a gift from Mila. Near that was a peppermint-scented soy candle I kept around for aromatherapy. Crystals came from the earth, and candles produced fire. Two down, two to go.

  I placed the amethyst and candle on the table, then looked around for something to represent air. I had no feathers in here, nor any pictures of birds, butterflies, or fairies. I glanced at my computer. I could print out a picture, I thought, but that seemed like too much trouble. Instead, I grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil and sketched a picture of a dove in flight. Not bad, I thought, placing the drawing on the table.

  Now, for water. I often had a bottle of water on my desk, or at least a mug of tea. Today there was nothing. Why don’t I have any water in here? I thought, feeling suddenly parched. I might have drawn a picture of a raindrop, but my thirst only intensified. Jeez, I can’t believe this.

  With fingers crossed, I opened my door a crack and peeked out. The coast was clear. I ran out to the lobby and ducked behind Julie’s desk. She always had a cooler full of water bottles for clients. As much as I hated to use plastic, desperate times called for desperate measures. I grabbed a bottle and dashed back to my office. Safely ensconced once again, I promptly drank three-quarters of the bottle, then poured the rest in my empty mug. I set it on the table with the other objects, then arranged them in their proper place: The bird, for air, sat in the east. The candle, which I lit for fire, sat in the south. The water sat in the west, and the crystal sat in the north. Finally, I removed my pentagram necklace and placed it in the center of the table.

  I needed only one more thing. I opened the bottom drawer of my desk, pushed aside a box of teabags and a set of bamboo utensils until I found what I was looking for: two small packets of salt. I tore open the corner of one packet and poured the salt into my cupped palm. Then I rubbed my palms together and mimicked the act of washing my hands and face with the salt. Thus purified, I was ready to cast the circle.

  I tore open the second salt packet. Beginning in the east, I walked around the table, sprinkling salt on the floor. I draw this circle for protection and security. May no dark forces enter herein.

  I walked the circle a second time, this time using my hand as a wand. I visualize the circle rising, as a ring of fire, to contain my magic herein.

  Lastly, I walked the circle a third time slowly, Zen-like, allowing myself to surrender to a calm, meditative state. Calling on the spirits of air, fire, water, and earth . . . I open myself to receive the power that grows herein.

  I stood at the table where I could see the moon out the window and crossed my arms over my chest. I took three deep breaths, then began my invocation:

  I stepped my feet apart to shoulder width and raised my arms up and out. I stared at the moon, took a deep breath, then closed my eyes. My fingertips tingled as I felt a rush of energy flow through my fingers and arms, then down through my torso and on down to my legs and feet. My body hummed. I wouldn’t have been surprised if I appeared to be glowing. The Goddess was inside me.

  With a fullness of presence and utter self-confidence, I spoke the words I heard in my mind. They were beautiful, eloquent words, showering me like gentle raindrops on a summer’s day, crystal clear, earthy, and strong. I am one . . . I am the vessel, the spark, the breeze . . . You are one . . . You are the mountain, the lion, the trees . . . We are one . . . We are the answer, the hope, the key.

  As I repeated the words, I felt my energy rise, until the words ended with a familiar refrain: That which you seek, you shall find within. “If it harm none, do what you will.”

  I opened my eyes and lowered my arms. With an outpouring of gratitude, I closed the circle and returned my office to its former appearance. Now that I had worked magic here, I was sure it would never feel quite the same again.

  Still buzzing with energy, I sat at my desk and performed a quick Internet search. A few minutes later, I put on my coat and grabbed my purse. I was invigorated and alert, my senses heightened like a comic book superhero’s. I felt that I would be processing the experience for the next several days.

  Quietly I opened my office door and headed down the hall. As I passed Crenshaw’s office, his door flew open and he stepped out, obstructing my path. He must have been listening for me to come out, I realized.

  “What were you doing in your office?” he demanded.

  I smiled at him, unfazed. “Nothing.”

  He narrowed his eyes and peered closely at my face. “Were you doing drugs in there?”

  “No. Don’t be silly. I was just thinking.” I patted Crenshaw’s arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see a man about a mattress.”

  * * *

  Thanks to the Goddess Luna, I felt more clearheaded than I had in a long time. Colors seemed brighter, sounds were sharper, smells were more pungent. As I passed through the lobby, I caught a strong whiff of fried chicken. Someone must have brought a bucket to the party. I wrinkled my nose as I dashed to the exit. I was sorry to miss the office shindig, but not sorry to escape the building. The cold, crisp air felt refreshing on my still-flushed face.

  As I walked to my car, I went over the insights I had received after performing the ritual. With perfect clarity, I had immediately realized my block when it came to Beverly. I saw why I had so stubbornly resisted accepting her as Edgar’s mistress. For one thing, Beverly was an upstanding person. She wasn’t the type to cheat with another woman’s husband. Based on my respect and regard for my boss, I decided not to jump to any more conclusions or form any more opinions about the affair until I heard her side of the story.

  But that wasn’t all. The other thing that had been bothering me was the note I’d found. Meet me in the reading room at 1 a.m. Why would Edgar meet his paramour in the public reading room when he had a whole hotel full of bedrooms at his disposal?

  He wouldn’t. Beverly had to have been waiting for him in a private room.

  Not only that but, from what Allison had told me, it sure sounded as if Edgar had figured out who was blackmailing him. That could mean only one thing. The person Edgar had intended to meet in the reading room was the blackmailer.

  So, if he gave the blackmailer the note . . . and the blackmailer dropped the note in the reading room, then that meant Edgar actually did meet with the blackmailer.

  And then he wound up dead.

  I couldn’t be certain, but it sure seemed as if my instincts were correct. Edgar’s death was related to the blackmail attempt. Find the blackmailer, find the killer. It was the surest way to exonerate Beverly.

  As the first order of business, I needed to know more about the basis of the blackmail threats. What information did the blackmailer have? All I knew was that it concerned Cornerstone. Before I’d left my office, I searched the Internet for anything I could find out about the failed development project. There wasn’t much out there. I did find the location, however, as well as a permit application and storm water management plan on the city’s website. One interesting tidbit I noticed was that part of the property encroached upon a protected wetland. Getting permission to build in that area would have been quite a feat, even if the financing hadn’t fallen through.

  Once I had exhausted all online avenues, I tapped my fingers on my desk. What I needed was the inside scoop. Who could tell me more about the project? The investors, that’s who. Beverly had mentioned two buyers in particular. I wasn’t exactly keen on questioning the chief of police at this point, so I decided to track down the other person she had mentioned by name: Lonnie Treat.

  Treat Mattresses was located in a shopping plaza on a busy thoroughfare lined with strip malls and fast-food places. Although it was after dark, there were bright lights everywhere I looked as last-minute shoppers crowded the streets and filled the parking lots. I
had to park a few doors down from the mattress place, in front of a coin laundromat and a tanning salon.

  The moment I climbed out of my car, I heard someone call my name. I jerked my head around and quickly spied none other than the boy wonder himself, Zeke Marshal. He was standing by the open door of a tiny black-and-white Smart car.

  “I thought that was you,” he called, slamming his door shut. He walked up to me, wearing his usual sly grin.

  “Are you following me?” I demanded.

  “I know, right? We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  I stared at him, trying to get a read on his sincerity or lack thereof. After a second, he raised his eyebrows. “Are you serious? You think I’m following you? I got here first. In fact, I was just leaving. If anyone’s following anyone, you’re following me.”

  I narrowed my eyes, then relaxed my stance and forced a laugh. “I’m just kidding. Duh. So, what’s new? Finishing up your holiday shopping?”

  “Actually, I’m fundraising.” He lifted his hand to show me the clipboard he was holding. “I work for Tucker Brinkley now, and all his staffers have to pound the pavement. Would you like to make a donation?”

  “You work for Tucker?” I said, ignoring his request for money. “Doing IT work?”

  “Of course,” he said. “That’s what I do.”

  “So, if Tucker becomes mayor, will you join his team at City Hall? Or will you stay and work at his lodge, or hunting business, or whatever it is he does?”

  Zeke laughed. “I’ll go wherever I’m needed.”

  “I see.” How altruistic, I thought, especially for a guy who doesn’t seem to have a loyal bone in his body.

  “Well, I gotta run. I’ve got two more strips to hit before calling it a day. Let me know if you change your mind about donating.” He winked at me and turned to go.

  “Hey, Zeke.”

  He turned back. “Yes, darlin’?”

  “Did Lonnie Treat contribute to Tucker’s campaign?”

  A strange look came over Zeke’s face. “You know Lonnie Treat?”

  “Doesn’t everyone? He’s practically famous. He’s on TV.”

  “Right. He’s a real character. He said Tucker’s a shoe-in and shouldn’t need to raise any funds. But then he said to come back in a couple months, when it’s closer to the election. If it seems like Tucker could use some help, Lonnie said he’d be more than happy to pitch in.”

  I shrugged. “Oh, well. Good luck.”

  Zeke took off and I proceeded to Treat’s Mattresses. The minute I pushed open the glass door and entered the large, open store, I felt like I’d walked into a bright and shiny carnival of mattresses. Balloon bouquets and multicolor plastic pennant banners gave the place a festive air—but also added to the whole used-car-lot vibe. Everywhere I looked, there were mattresses, mattresses, and more mattresses, as well as signs advertising mattresses: BLOWOUT SALE! REDUCED PRICES! ZERO PERCENT DOWN! In the back of the room, a thirty-six-inch TV played Lonnie’s homespun commercial on a loop: “What a treat is a good night’s sleep!”

  Oh, great. Now that jingle will be playing in my head all night.

  I wandered down the center aisle until I spotted Lonnie emerge from a back room. He was wearing the same shabby brown suit he had on the first time I saw him. I walked up to him and stuck out my hand. “Hello, Mr. Treat. Keli Milanni. We met yesterday at the visitation for Edgar Harrison.”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, pumping my hand. “I remember. You’re one of the lawyers.”

  “That’s right,” I said agreeably. But inside, I felt a sudden twinge of doubt. I didn’t recall telling him I was a lawyer. Then I mentally shook myself. Stop being so paranoid. I put on a sweet smile. “I just ran into a friend outside collecting donations for Tucker Brinkley’s campaign. I remember you saying you predict he’ll be our next mayor.”

  “No competition,” he said. “No one even knows who the other candidates are. Let’s see, there’s a dentist, I think. And a schoolteacher. What else? A butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker?” He snorted at his own joke.

  “Good point,” I said. “I’m kind of curious about their platforms, though. I mean, Edgar was pretty different from Tucker, if you think about it. He was pro-development, while Tucker is pro-conservation. Take Cornerstone, for example. A project like that would have never seen the light of day under a Tucker Brinkley administration. Even if the financing were there.”

  I watched Lonnie carefully and was surprised when his expression turned smug. “You don’t think so?” he asked. “Why not? Tucker is a smart businessman. He’s not as opposed to progress as people might think.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, do you think Cornerstone might get off the ground yet? Edgar’s widow could pick up where he left off. Or she could sell the property.”

  Lonnie’s eyes took on a wistful cast. “I doubt it. There’s not enough wealth in this town. Too many buyers backed out the first time.” He cocked his head then, and looked into my eyes. “So, what brings you here today?”

  “Well . . . I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop in and see what these sales are all about.”

  “We have some great deals going on. To thin out the end-of-year surplus, you know. Make room for new inventory.”

  “I see. I thought the best sales usually happened after Christmas.”

  Lonnie stuck out his lower lip. “Mattresses are different. You’re not usually gonna see a mattress with a great big red bow underneath a Christmas tree.” He snorted again, then proceeded to rattle off all the features a person could ever possibly want in a new mattress. He talked about coils and springs, firmness and fabric and foam. I listened politely until he stopped at last and invited me to lie down on one of the display beds.

  “Um, okay.” I perched on the edge of the bed and bounced a little. “Nice,” I said, feeling like Goldilocks. “Not too hard, not too soft.”

  “Go ahead and lie down. Don’t be shy. Take off your shoes and curl up like you would at home. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

  He walked away, leaving me to stare after him. Ugh. Why hadn’t I called Farrah before coming over here? I was going to have to see this ruse through. I slipped off my ankle boots and crawled up onto the king-size mattress. Feeling completely silly—and strangely vulnerable—I rested my head on the display pillow. Just as I settled in, I heard the click of a heavy lock from the front of the store. Then the lights flicked off, cloaking the store in darkness.

  Chapter 19

  I bolted upright. “Lonnie!” I called. “What’s going on?”

  For a split second, the only sound was the rapid pounding of my heart. Then a clinking of keys, and the lights flashed back on.

  “Sorry about that,” yelled Lonnie. “I was just putting up the ‘closed’ sign. Accidentally hit the light switch.”

  I scrambled off the bed, pulled on my boots, and grabbed my phone from my purse. I glanced at the time and saw that it was 6:50. It was still ten minutes till closing time. Why was he so eager to lock up?

  He appeared before me again, jingling his keys as he walked. “You don’t have to rush,” he said. “Do you have any more questions for me?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “About the mattress. What did you think?”

  “Oh. It was nice.” I backed away from him and bumped into another display bed. “I need to think it over, though.”

  “You can’t beat these prices.” He drew closer to me, even as I backed away. “And it’s a limited time only. You better decide fast before we sell out.” He showed his teeth in an oily smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. We both knew these mattresses weren’t going anywhere.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said. “I actually have to go now, though. My boyfriend is waiting for me.” I turned and ran for the door. I tried to yank it open, but of course it was locked. I fumbled with the latch, my fingers refusing to cooperate. Lonnie came up behind me and grabbed my arm with his bony fingers. I yelped as I
jumped back.

  “Let me help you with that,” he said, using his key to unlock the door. “I didn’t realize you were in such a hurry.”

  “Yeah, sorry. Thanks for everything.” I slipped past him and tossed off a quick, backward wave. I was sure he thought I was crazy. I didn’t care. I just wanted out of there.

  That’s the last time I question a possible murder suspect by myself.

  * * *

  Once I was safely in my car, with the doors locked and the key in the ignition, I took three deep breaths. What was that all about? Had I overreacted? I didn’t think so. Something about Lonnie Treat set off my warning bells. The guy gave me the creeps.

  I kept my eyes on the front of the mattress store as I tried to get my nerves under control. I must have stared into the harshly lit windows for several seconds until my phone buzzed. It was a text from Farrah:

  Want me to stay the night again? I have a date but can come over after.

  I typed in my reply: No, I’m cool. Then I paused. Was I cool? The truth was, I felt pretty freaked out. Between the break-in the night before and Lonnie’s weirdness, I didn’t exactly feel like being alone.

  My phone buzzed again. This time it was Wes: Office party over yet? I’m home for the night.

  Smiling, I finished my message to Farrah: Heading to chez Wes. I pressed SEND, then texted Wes that I’d be there soon. Before I left the parking lot, there was one more person I wanted to hear from. I dialed Beverly’s cell phone. She didn’t pick up, so I tried her office number. Still no answer.

  When I arrived at Wes’s apartment ten minutes later, I tried Beverly again with no luck. After a glass of wine and a bite to eat, I tried yet again.

  “That’s it,” I said, hanging my head. “She’s avoiding me.”

  “Why would she do that?” asked Wes, as he cleared off the table.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I sold her up the river?” Then I had a worse thought. What if the police have arrested her?