Yuletide Homicide

by Jennifer David Hesse

  “So, it really was him,” said Zeke in a low voice.

  I turned to frown at the young guy. “Are you saying you didn’t know? You’re the one who gave me that crude paper signed by Tucker and Edgar. Speaking of which, why did you put it in a Christmas card instead of just handing it over?”

  Zeke shook his head. “I had learned someone was blackmailing Edgar and figured it must be Lonnie, but I had no way to prove it. I also knew that little paper must be important. I was afraid having it in my possession might make me look like a suspect.”

  Ha, I thought to myself. Little did he know that he had been a suspect anyway.

  “I was aware of your reputation as a crafty sleuth,” Zeke went on. “I figured you’d know what to do.”

  I looked back at the parking lot and noticed Crenshaw speaking with Detective Rhinehardt. When they parted, the detective went to his car and drove around directly behind the police car. We all watched as they pulled out of the lot and headed down the lane. I heard Farrah sigh and reached over to squeeze her hand.

  Zeke sighed, too. “I guess this means I’m out of a job again.”

  Chapter 28

  Five days later, I entered the lobby of Olsen, Sykes, and Rafferty fresh from my belated trip home for the holidays. After a week of homemade vegan casseroles, stews, and cakes, I vowed to drink a green juice every morning and hit the gym every evening for the foreseeable future. Now, though, my first order of business was a prescheduled meeting with Beverly and Crenshaw. I found them waiting for me in Beverly’s private lounge.

  “Have a seat, Keli,” said Beverly, from her wingback chair by the decorative fireplace. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure,” I said, helping myself to a cup from the carafe on the coffee table.

  “Welcome back,” said Crenshaw. “I trust you had a relaxing vacation?”

  “I did. Thanks.” I sat in the chair next to his and took a sip of coffee. With the niceties out of the way, I waited expectantly for Beverly to begin.

  She cleared her throat. “Keli, as I already mentioned to Crenshaw, I want you both to know how grateful I am for your assistance and support these past few weeks. You went well above and beyond the call of duty. It means a lot to me personally. Thank you.”

  Crenshaw nodded modestly, and I murmured, “You’re welcome.”

  “I also want to apologize for involving you in something that became far more serious and dangerous than I ever anticipated. I would never have given you the assignment to track down Edgar’s blackmailer if I had known where it would lead.” Beverly leaned forward, her expression earnest. “I hope you’ll believe me when I say I knew nothing of Edgar’s apparent wrongdoing. If I had even an inkling that he had done anything remotely outside the bounds of law, I would have advised him to come clean and make amends.”

  “Of course,” said Crenshaw. “We know that.”

  “I acknowledge that my personal relationship with him might be viewed as inappropriate by some,” Beverly continued, “although we were consenting adults with a long history. In any event, that’s a moot point now.”

  “Any news about Tucker?” I asked. I really didn’t want to hear any more details about my boss’s love life.

  “He’s still in the county jail,” said Beverly. “I imagine he’ll enter a plea agreement, rather than proceed to trial. He already admitted his guilt to the two of you. I think he understands the evidence is stacked against him.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the scam Tucker and Edgar had going,” I said. “I’m not sure I fully understand it. Was it a Ponzi scheme? And were there victims besides Lonnie?”

  “You know,” said Beverly, thoughtfully, “I like to think Edgar started out with good intentions. He thought Cornerstone would be lucrative.” She paused, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t speculate. The truth will come out eventually. Anyway, it’s my understanding that other investors did lose money due to Edgar’s improprieties. Fortunately, Gretta is cooperating with the investigators, and she’s promised to reimburse all of Edgar’s victims from his estate.”

  Beverly looked down at her hands. “I’m sure Gretta didn’t know anything about Edgar’s business activities, legal or otherwise. She must have been just as shocked as I was.”

  “Of course, Edgar wasn’t solely responsible,” said Crenshaw. “Let’s not forget Tucker. He knew very well what he had done was illegal, and he was willing to go to any length to keep the facts hidden.”

  Beverly looked up. “Again, I am deeply, deeply sorry for the danger you faced.”

  “We don’t blame you,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Not at all,” said Crenshaw.

  “Well,” said Beverly, “on a brighter note, Randall, Kris, and I met yesterday to discuss the future of the firm. We reached a very important decision—though, you can be assured the decision has been in the works for several months now. It wasn’t based solely on the events of the past several days.”

  My heart started beating a little faster as I realized what Beverly was about to say.

  “We’ll meet with each of you separately to extend our formal offer, but I’d like to be the first to give you a heads-up.” Beverly smiled. “It would be my honor and privilege to have each of you as co-owners and junior partners in our law firm family.”

  I broke out into a grin. “Thank you, Beverly,” I said.

  I turned to Crenshaw and was surprised to find him looking at me. “Congratulations, Ms. Milanni. This is an honor you most deservedly have earned.”

  “Right back atcha, Crenshaw,” I said, shaking his hand.

  Beverly stood. “Go ahead and finish your coffee. I need to go see Julie for a minute.”

  When our boss left, we sat quietly for a moment, each absorbed in our own thoughts. Then I got up and set my cup on the table. “Guess I’ll get to work,” I said.

  “Wait,” said Crenshaw, standing. “How are you? That is, how have you been since our little episode in the gun vault? I hope you haven’t had nightmares or flashbacks.”

  I smiled. “It was pretty scary, but I’m fine. No long-term damage. How about you? Have you been holding up okay?”

  “Who, me? Why, yes. I’ve been splendid.” He stroked his beard. “It was quite a remarkable turn of events, though, wasn’t it? Sheana Starwalt has been after me for an exclusive interview. I wonder if you’d mind . . . ?”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t mind. You’re free to talk to her if you’d like.”

  He nodded. “Very good. I’m sure she would like to question you, too, if you’re amenable.”

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  “You know, there is one question I have for you.”

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “How did you manage to pull yourself together down there? One minute you were hyperventilating, the next you were flying around like Wonder Woman and barking orders like General Patton. How did you do it?”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” I said, heading for the exit. “I’m a witch.”

  Chapter 29

  The late afternoon sun streamed through the skylights in the old civic center. The building was closed to the public during renovations, but outgoing mayor Helen Trumley had granted special permission for the use of the gymnatorium by her construction foreman, Alex Douglas. Today was his wife’s initiation ceremony. She was being ordained as a Wiccan high priestess.

  I glanced over at Alex, beaming with pride from the front row. I felt exceptionally proud, too—of Mila for her amazing achievement and of myself for being there. It was high time I lighten up a little, I realized, and not be so paranoid about exposing my chosen religion.

  When I told Farrah I had decided to attend the ceremony, she begged to come along. She was eager for a distraction, anything to help her forget the whole Tucker affair—or, as she called it, “that time I dated a murderer.” She joked about her poor taste in men, but I knew she felt hurt and betrayed, not to mention a little foolish. She also mentioned that she
wanted to get to know Mila better. “I need to take a lesson or two from her,” Farrah had said, “and learn to hone my own psychic abilities. Then maybe I can actually use my women’s intuition instead of being duped by psycho cowboys.”

  I checked with Mila about bringing a guest to the event and, of course, she was more than happy to have Farrah attend. Now Farrah gazed in fascination at the altar in the center of the large room.

  “What are all those objects up there?” she whispered.

  “The ones up front represent the five elements,” I explained. “An eagle feather, for air, a candle for fire, a bowl of water, for water, obviously, and a bowl of sand for earth. The pentagram represents the fifth element, spirit.”

  “Is it just plain tap water?”

  “It could be,” I said. “But in this case, Mila told me that her coven members each brought something special as an offering for the occasion. The water is from a stream in the woods where the group performs outdoor rituals. The sand is from a special beach, and the other items are of personal significance to the group.”

  “That’s awesome. This is so cool.”

  I had to agree. The setup was beautiful, with potted white poinsettia trees on either side of the altar, a dozen white roses in a vase on a side table, and a sacred pathway delineated by pine boughs on the floor. Then I heard a rhythmic drumbeat and saw thirteen women appear all in a line on the other side of the room. The audience fell silent as the women marched up the path toward the altar.

  First in line was Max Eisenberry, a university English professor I had first met when I was trying to track down a missing copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio. Since then, I had become further acquainted with her through Mila. A petite woman with curly red hair, Max had been appointed as mistress of ceremonies for the initiation. She carried a stick of incense, perfuming the air with the scent of juniper berries.

  Behind Max was Mila herself. In a simple white shift dress and with a flower in her hair, she looked lovely but not showy. I knew she wanted it to be clear that this was an initiation, and not a coronation. Still, she had an inner radiance that made her stand out from the others.

  Eleven women followed Mila. They were a diverse group of many ages, colors, sizes, and personalities. Last in line was Catrina, Mila’s young assistant at Moonstone Treasures. Catrina played the djembe in a slow, deliberate cadence that gave the proceedings an air of solemnity.

  When the women reached the altar, they formed a wide circle. Max addressed the audience. “Welcome and merry meet. We’re so happy you all could join us for this special occasion. For those unfamiliar with Wiccan rituals, I’ll explain the proceedings as we go. First, we will cast a circle. A circle serves several functions. It delineates our sacred space, acts as a vessel for our magical energies, represents the communal, nonhierarchical nature of our religion, and symbolizes the eternal cycle of life. To cast the circle, we will call the quarters and invite our spiritual guides to join with us.”

  After the circle was cast, Mila walked up to the altar and stood behind it, facing the audience. Max stepped forward. “Mila Douglas, how do you join this circle?”

  “In perfect love and perfect trust,” Mila answered.

  “And how will you accept the responsibility of High Priestess of Coven of the Magic Circle?”

  “With humility, honor, dedication, and sincerity.”

  Max smiled and handed Mila one of the roses from the vase. She turned to the audience. “Each Circle member will now say a few words and present Mila with a rose. This is our way of expressing our confidence in her, our encouragement, and our gratitude. We’ll start with Becca, who will read the Charge of the Goddess.”

  Around the circle they went, some women reading short poems or passages, others speaking from the heart. After Catrina had her turn, Max spoke again. “As the sun king was reborn at Yuletide, and the Wheel of the Year turns toward a new season, so do we awaken to a new dawn. Each new phase of life comes with fresh challenges and opportunities for growth, but we can be secure in the knowledge that we are not alone.”

  Max selected something from the side table and held it up with both hands. “Mila Douglas, I hereby present you with the silver ring of the triple goddess. May the ancestors bless you, and the Goddess be your guide.”

  “Blessed be,” said Mila, accepting the ring. The audience broke out in applause as the two women hugged, then returned to their places in the circle. Max turned to Mila again, took her hand, and said, “Thou art Goddess.” Mila echoed the blessing, then turned to the woman on her left and said it to her: “Thou art Goddess.” Around the circle they went, from woman to woman, passing on their acknowledgment of the divinity within.

  Farrah nudged me. “I want to be a goddess,” she whispered. “Can you give the blessing to me?”

  I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Thou art Goddess,” I whispered.

  “Yay! Thou art Goddess, too.” She hugged me, then turned to watch the final part of the ritual. Max addressed the audience once more.

  “Now I will close the circle by walking widdershins. That’s the Scottish word for counterclockwise,” she explained. “As I go, I will thank the deities and the powers of the elements.”

  Using a wand from the altar, Mila retraced her steps around the circle, pausing at each cardinal direction to express the coven’s gratitude. Finally, she drew a pentagram in the air and said, “The circle is open but not broken. Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again.”

  As the group dispersed, some lined up behind Mila to congratulate her, while others moved toward the audience to greet friends and loved ones. “Oh!” said Max, clapping her hands. “Be sure to join us in the cafeteria for cakes and ale!”

  Farrah and I held back to give our best wishes to Mila. When it was our turn, Mila beamed at both of us.

  “I’m so glad you came!” she said. “What did you think?”

  “That was amazing,” said Farrah. “Such a privilege to witness. And I have so many questions. For one thing, do covens always have to have thirteen witches? No more, no less?”

  “It’s not a hard and fast rule,” said Mila. “Thirteen is traditional because of the thirteen full moons in the years that have a blue moon. It’s also a good, manageable number. Of course, groups naturally evolve over time. People come and go. This group was together as a unit for a year and a day before we called ourselves a coven, but we sometimes have gatherings that contain more or fewer members.” Mila winked at me. “Keli knows she has an open invitation.”

  I smiled. “I have to admit, seeing all those women in the circle was pretty impressive. I can only imagine how intense it must be when you all raise energy in ritual.”

  Mila nodded. “Yes. It’s quite powerful.”

  “Still,” I said, “I like my solitary practice.”

  “That’s perfectly fine and perfectly valid,” said Mila. “In fact, we should all take the time to develop a personal relationship with the Divine. This includes learning to know ourselves—as the ancient Greeks advised in the famous inscription at the temple at Delphi. You can’t make magic without self-awareness. In other words, you have to spend time with yourself to gain the wisdom you need for effective witchcraft.”

  “Spoken like a true high priestess,” I said with a smile.

  “Spoken like a true oracle,” said Farrah, with a tinge of awe in her voice. “I really need to book an appointment with you.”

  Mila laughed, a joyful sound that rang out like tinkling bells. “Anytime, dear. Anytime.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Farrah and I dressed up in little black party dresses and headed to the Loose Rock to ring in the New Year. As soon as we entered the nightclub, someone tossed a balloon our way. I batted it to the side and took a look around. Black and gold streamers hung from the walls, while strobe lights flashed above the dance floor. Clusters of people laughed, danced, and tossed back drinks.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Julie from the office. She wore a
plastic tiara and carried a long-stemmed glass. “Congratulations again, Madame Partner!”

  “Thanks, Julie,” I said, smiling.

  Julie moved on, and Zeke appeared in her place. “Ladies,” he said, lifting his beer glass in greeting. “Can I offer you some beads?” He pointed to several strands of colorful Mardi Gras beads hanging from his neck. How appropriate, I thought with a smirk. Hopefully, these beads wouldn’t break like all the others he had lost.

  “Sure, data boy,” said Farrah. “I’ll take red.”

  I chose green and dipped my chin to allow Zeke to place the beads over my head. As he did, he whispered in my ear. “Did you have a nice afternoon?” he asked.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.” He winked at me, then disappeared into the crowd. I would have to keep my eye on that guy.

  We continued through the club until I finally spotted Wes behind the bar. He had come early to give Jimi a hand. As soon as he saw me, he hung up his apron and joined us. “Hey, beauties. I saved a table for us. Are you hungry? Jimi is keeping the kitchen open late tonight.”

  “Maybe later,” said Farrah. She grinned at Wes and squeezed my arm. “Right now I’m going to hit the dance floor and boogie my cares away. I’ll catch you two later.”

  For the next few hours, Wes and I stuck together like the glitter glue on our candle centerpiece. It had been hard to say good-bye when I left for my trip to Nebraska, especially coming on the heels of my close encounter with a killer. Now Wes didn’t want to let me out of his sight. I couldn’t say that I minded.

  Every now and then, friends dropped by our table to say hello. Among them were Jimi, sporting a felt-covered New Year’s top hat; Pammy and her husband; and Bob the driver. Bob told us he was offering free rides to anyone who needed a designated driver at the end of the night. He was doing it partly because he was a nice guy and partly to drum up interest in his new business. He had decided to start his own private car service, rather than work exclusively for any one employer.