by Brant, Kylie
Shifting her attention to Dev, the woman’s manner became more businesslike. “What can I help you with today, Devlin?”
“I was wonderin’ if you could get me a property trace on Rose Thornton’s place. I’m lookin’ clear back to the original owner.”
Hannah pursed her lips and looked up at him. “I’ll be glad to do just that. But I can already tell you who the original owner was. It was my great-great-granddaddy, Rufus Ashton.”
“No one on this list matches a name Donnelle gave us when she was talking about the legend,” Ramsey observed. She was scanning the sheet Hannah had prepared for them as she drove.
“Pay attention to the road.” He snatched the paper from her hand and skimmed it himself. “Well, it was a long shot.”
“A long shot for what?” she wondered. “To find ghosts? Sometimes lights are just lights, Stryker. And that’s all I saw on Rose’s property last night.”
He adjusted his seat belt to allow him to slouch more comfortably in his seat. “Everybody’s seein’ lights in the woods,” he mused. “The kids at Ashton’s Pond, and now you.”
Because the obvious seemed to have escaped him, she pointed out, “We should be more focused on who’s in the woods at night and what they’re up to.”
“Guess you’ll be wantin’ to camp out there and take a look for yourself some time.”
Just the thought had her palms going damp, her stomach hollowing out. There was no way in hell she was going into those woods at night. She prayed it wouldn’t become necessary. Maybe she could convince Rollins to check around. Some of it was county land, after all.
“I still think it was probably that Ezra T. you told me about. Or maybe a poacher.” Both would have reason to be sneaking around the woods after dark.
Of course there were plenty of activities the woods would provide cover for. Because her throat had gone dry, she reached for her soda. Terrifying activities unsuspected in the light of day. Cassie Frost had discovered that.
So had Ramsey, once upon a time.
She glanced over at Stryker and found him with his head tipped back and his eyes closed. She felt a flash of envy. She’d been the one to spend hours after he left going over ViCAP responses until her eyeballs bled. And if the activity had kept her mind from straying in his direction too often, she’d welcomed it for that alone.
It was still a bit disconcerting to recall how easily he’d diverted her attention. One moment she’d been cleaning up and preparing to kick him out, and the next she’d been wrapped around him playing tonsil hockey with a fervor that she still found more than a little embarrassing.
There weren’t many men in her acquaintance who were satisfied with some light petting, especially sitting in a motel room with a perfectly good bed nearby. She’d been close enough to him to recognize his arousal. That had made it all the more surprising when he’d left without an argument.
Surprising . . . and maybe a bit disappointing, too. Enough so that she couldn’t quite push away the thought that perhaps there’d be no harm if she didn’t send him away the next time. She wasn’t interested in anything more than the moment, and she hadn’t met a man yet who’d quibble with a woman uninterested in strings.
Purposefully, she let the tires on his side leave the road, jolting him upright again. Smirking, she said innocently, “Here’s the turnoff for Cora Beth’s place.”
“Like I said once before, pure mean,” he murmured. His gaze was fixed on the scene outside the window. “Did you have a chance to look at the police report I left?”
His nonchalant tone didn’t fool her. “I did.” She slowed the vehicle to maneuver around the ruts the spring rains had carved in the secluded drive. Keeping her eyes on the bumpy path ahead meant she didn’t have to risk looking at him. “Plenty of eyewitnesses placing Lucas in the vicinity of Jessalyn’s place the first stop he made. Second time around, the next door neighbor, Alvin Crowell, swore he’d seen your father standing in the window of Jessalyn’s bedroom.” Never mind what the man had been doing looking into the woman’s bedroom, Ramsey thought, as she wrestled the car over a teeth-jarring bump. If that particular question had been asked of him, the answer hadn’t been included in the official report.
“So there’s no question of his guilt.”
His words were uttered just a little too easily for her to be unaware of the emotion bubbling just below the surface. “I didn’t say that.” Ramsey pulled to a stop before a simple framed house painted a cheerful yellow with white shutters. “There were lots of questions left unanswered. But the one that still bugs me the most is, where did your dad spend the hours between his first visit to Jessalyn’s and the second? Seems like someone intent on getting that drunk, there’d be plenty of witnesses to that, as well.”
She saw a curtain twitch at the front window of the house, knew someone inside was wondering at their presence there. “With his blood alcohol level, he had to have spent the interim doing little more than drinking. But your mother’s statement indicated he hadn’t done it at home. Hadn’t even gone there in the interim. So where was he?”
He looked at her then, and the bleak expression in his eyes had her stomach twisting. “I don’t know. But if that’s the only question you’ve got after lookin’ at the police report, maybe I should quit pokin’ ’round.”
“That’s not the most outstanding question, Stryker.” Shoving open the car door, she unfolded herself and sincerely hoped Cora Beth Truman was more forthcoming today than she had been during her previous visit.
Starting up to the house, she continued, “The most important thing I’m still wondering about is why there’s no mention of it in the police report. Did they investigate it at all? If so, why wasn’t it included? If not, why not?” And she wasn’t happy with the random questions rattling around in her mind, either. Lucas Rollins had nothing to do with the investigation at hand. She couldn’t afford yet another diversion while she was searching for Cassie Frost’s killer.
She slid a glance toward the man at her side as they made their way up to the house. Distraction was a pretty accurate summary of his effect on her and her focus on this case. She was fervently hoping that this time around he’d prove to be a helpful one.
There was the prerequisite small talk required first, of course. Ramsey had expected the woman’s open delight at seeing Stryker. Had even accepted the green tea pressed on her and pretended to drink it, all the while longing for the Diet Coke she’d left in the car. But the familiar impatience had begun to burn when talk turned to Cora Beth’s son while she caught Dev up on the happenings in his life for the last twenty-odd years.
The feeling faded momentarily when Cora Beth pulled out some faded photographs of two young boys sporting cocked bats and baseball caps pulled low over their eyes. She knew without asking that the blond one was Dev.
The famed grin was in appearance, of course. Along with an expression of enjoyment that would have been difficult to miss. The hot and cold running charm had been apparent even then. Giving him decades to hone that lethal charisma.
Finally, Cora Beth’s attention turned to her. And Ramsey was certain she wasn’t imagining the note of reproof in her mild words.
“You shoulda told me yesterday you were a friend of Devlin’s, Ms. Clark. I’m afraid I’m a little wary of strangers, livin’ up here the way I do. ’Specially since my husband passed five years back.”
“I certainly understand your caution, Mrs. Truman.” Whatever her feelings about having to use Stryker to get people to talk to her, Ramsey was eager to get some needed information now. “A woman livin’ alone needs to be extra careful. But I’ve heard so much about your abilities as a healer, I’ve been mighty anxious to talk to you ’bout that.” She ignored the startled glance Dev shot her. As she’d told him once before, she was fluent in y’all. And willing to use any tool at her disposal to loosen the woman’s tongue.
Cora Beth settled her slight frame back against the overstuffed couch. Her blond head contrasted star
kly with the brown and orange flowery fabric covering it. “So you’re interested in healin’?”
“I’m interested in the various plants and herbs used in the process.”
Truman studied her with cornflower blue eyes. “Since you don’t strike me as a holistic believer, I assume this has somethin’ to do with the death of that poor girl they found a couple weeks ago.” She held up a hand to stem any response Ramsey might have made. “I know you can’t talk about it. Don’t want to hear it, truth be told. I shudder just thinkin’ of somethin’ like that happenin’ so close to here.”
“I’m not lookin’ for any plant derivatives that might act as intoxicants.” Ramsey knew she had to choose her words carefully. The presence of the plant root in the victim’s stomach hadn’t been released to the press, and if she had anything to say about it, wouldn’t be. By holding the detail back, they’d have a fact only the killer would know, which would be important when they got a suspect in custody. “What I mostly need to know ’bout is things ’round here that would be easily accessed for medicinal purposes.”
Cora Beth tipped some more tea in Dev’s cup, which was miraculously empty. Ramsey made a mental note to ask him later if he really liked the brew. She’d start to worry about him if he did. She’d rate the taste just slightly above that of swamp water.
“I have my own medicinal herb garden,” the woman started, tucking both ankles neatly to the side in a gesture that managed to look feminine and uncomfortable at once. “Most healers do. Mix my own healin’ agents for various ailments according to whatever complaint my patient has.”
“Such as?”
The woman wrinkled up her brow. “Oh, for instance the leaves of aloe vera can be used as a gel for burns, cuts, and abrasions. Ginger can be helpful for anythin’ from migraines to calmin’ nausea or fussy bowels. Valerian root can assist with insomnia or anxiety. Dandelion leaves can be used as a diuretic, and its root can stimulate liver function. Even Queen Anne’s Lace, a wildflower, has many uses.” Her expression turned mischievous. “Its seeds can treat a hangover.”
“Good to know,” Dev murmured.
But Ramsey had picked up on one of the woman’s earlier examples. “What other roots have healin’ powers?”
“Oh, there’s kava. The word refers to the plant and to a beverage made from its roots. It’s not indigenous to our country, although I know healers who grow it. Chewin’ on the root or drinkin’ the beverage made from it has strong intoxicant effects. It acts as a tranquilizer. The roots of Queen Anne’s Lace contain vitamin C and carotene. The bark from tree roots are often used in healin’, but I tend to steer clear from harvestin’ them, since it’s difficult to do so without injuring the healthy tree in the process.”
Cora Beth rose suddenly. “I think I have somethin’ that might help you.” She hurried to the back of the house, where Ramsey could see rows of planters on top of tables beneath the large window.
She came back holding a pamphlet in her hand, which she thrust toward Ramsey. “This brochure is put out by Natural Herbal Healing and lists several plant roots used. Many of them are also used by hoodoos.”
Ramsey and Dev shared a glance. “Hoodoos?”
Cora Beth’s smile showed a dimple that made her face look more youthful. “Sorry. Hoodoos are root doctors who use plants, especially roots, for their magical, healin’, and spiritual powers. Some of them prepare sachets from herbs for protection, or good luck. Others use plants with mindalterin’ effects for their ceremonies, as well.”
“Would you consider sellin’ any of your plants outright?” Ramsey asked. Maybe if she could take some samples back to Jonesy, he could use the roots for comparisons to the substance taken from Cassie Frost’s body.
But Cora Beth’s negative response was emphatic, and even Dev’s wheedling couldn’t sway her.
“I have to save my plants for people who need ’em,” she said firmly. “I just can’t grow replacements fast enough to be sure I have everythin’ I use for my patients.”
Armed with the brochure the woman had given her, Ramsey stood. “Do you know any hoodoos in the area?” she said, as the woman was leading them to the door.
After a long hesitation, she responded, “I don’t. Katie Patterson used to mix potions and such for anyone silly enough to approach her, but she ran off years ago with Eleanor Per-kins’s husband. Neither of them have been back since.”
Her gaze shifted back to Dev then, and warmed. “You stop back anytime, now, hear?”
He took her hand in his, holding it a moment. “Tell Sam I said hey, will you?”
“You can be sure I will.”
Ramsey’s mind was racing as the two of them descended the steps and headed toward the car. Maybe the root Cassie Frost had ingested wasn’t meant to be herbal or medicinal in nature at all. Maybe it was symbolic in some way. She’d worked cases before that skirted the occult. Had put away a woman claiming to be a witch, Satan’s own handmaiden. Since she’d managed to kill two men before she was stopped, Ramsey tended to agree with the description, figuratively at least.
Because Dev knew his way around these parts, Ramsey reluctantly allowed him to drive while she took his place in the passenger’s seat.
“I don’t pretend to know what’s behind your interest in plant roots, but Cora Beth’s mention of hoodoos did bring about a thought. You might consider people dabblin’ with the occult. Various plants and herbs are used for protection circles, for example. Others to ward off evil.”
“So you think I should be looking for Satan worshippers frolicking around at midnight, burning devil circles in the ground while swilling a concoction they’ve made from plants?”
Ignoring her flippancy, he continued, “That, or by association, a religious organization.”
She stared at him blankly. “Religion? The last time I checked, it wasn’t associated with the occult, except in the most hardened zealot’s ranting.”
Managing a turn in the drive, he headed toward the road, using far less care than she had to avoid the ruts and potholes. “Witchcraft, for want of a better word, and religion aren’t that far apart, at least in terms of origin and followers. You’ll find some of the same symbols, some of the same characters, integral to each. Different interpretations, of course, but consider the practice of voodoo, for an example. Elements from Catholicism are intricately interwoven into the practice, probably because missionaries were converting the natives and elements of the faith intermixed with the native beliefs.”
He’d given her something to consider. The substance found in Cassie Frost’s stomach had to have been ingested after her capture. Which likely meant it had been forced on her by her attacker. Even if Powell was right, and it was the act of power rather than the substance itself that was important to the UNSUB’s ritual, Ramsey had to believe there was a reason for the attacker to choose that particular material. Either it produced a desired effect—intoxication, sedation, elevated libido—or it symbolized something to the offender.
And if she could figure out exactly what it symbolized, she would have drastically narrowed the search for the perp.
The hour spent at Nellie Rodemaker’s was, in Ramsey’s estimation, a total waste of time. The apple-cheeked woman welcomed Dev with an exuberant hug and a good-natured scolding for not stopping in sooner. From the occasional question Ramsey could manage in between all the gossip about relatives between her and Dev, it appeared that Jenny Callison had been right. Nellie was more midwife than herbalist, although she appeared to have a handy collection of natural remedies for everything from morning sickness to contractions.
It took some less than polite insistence, but she eventually managed to extract Dev from the woman’s home, and they headed in the opposite direction to Raelynn Urdall’s house.
Slanting him a glance as he drove, Ramsey looked for signs of upset in his expression but didn’t find it. “She wasn’t exactly complimentary about your mother.”
He gave a nod, his handsome face pensive. �
�Blames her for goin’ off and remarryin’ so quick, sounded like. I’ve never gotten that impression from any of my other relatives. Most folks would understand a young widow wantin’ to put the past behind her, ’specially with all that had happened with my daddy.” Checking his mirrors, he passed a battered pickup hauling a teetering load of brush. “ ’Course I seem to recall my granddaddy sayin’ once that Nellie was sweet on my daddy at one time, so I’ll just consider the source.”
His words brought back some of the questions she still had regarding that old police report he’d shown her. Resigned to the fact that she wasn’t going to be able to put them out of her mind, she asked, “Is the man who served as chief of police back then . . .” Searching her memory, she plucked out the name. “John Kenner . . . still around?”
“As far as I know, he still lives over on Hazlewood. He must be . . . I’d guess mid-seventies by now. He and Doc Theisen are fiends at checkers. Used to play every Thursday night.”