Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  When she didn’t budge, he added, “Look, we’re going to show the note to Lucky and fill him in on what little we know. We’ll see what he says.” He took her hand and helped her out of the Jeep. “I trust him.”

  The shop’s plank floor shined like rich, umber satin and smelled of lemon-scented wax. Potpourri, soft and spicy, mingled with the cool afternoon breeze. An endless display of brightly colored costumes filled the store. Sequins and pearls. Feathers and beads. Tatting and lace. Some were exquisitely elegant, others tastefully authentic.

  And the minute Jack walked through the door he knew he’d made a mistake. In the midst of all the charm and enchantment, he watched Abby’s smile fade the moment she saw the display suspended from the ceiling; the one that had been saved for the macabre.

  Painted masks stared. False faces watched. Severed heads gaped. Grotesque facades with one sole purpose. They had been designed to horrify. Each one fascinatingly different. Every one mindlessly the same.

  As quaint as the shop appeared at first glance, it gave Abby the creeps. Even the friendly white-haired owners reminded her of the vivid nightmare she’d had. Unlike the dream she’d had at Adam’s Inn, the striking array of costumes were nothing more than illusions. One may have been of the mind, but the other was definitely of the body. The fear coiling deep inside was of the real world, and no sleight of hand or vanishing act could make it disappear. For whatever reason, Abby’s dream been a warning. The autumn festival had to represent the Halloween Ball.

  Despite that, something deep inside insisted she and Jack had to go to the ball, because she had to get the amulet back. She just didn’t know why it was so damned important. At least not yet. What she did know was that staying away was not an option. Of that she was certain. For now the explanation eluded her, but she knew in time all the pieces of the puzzle would fall into place. They had to. Until then, she had to pay special attention to her instincts, and right now they were centered on Jack.

  Jack slipped up behind Abby and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Hey, pretty lady,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Abby sighed, relaxing against him and placing her hands over his. She rested her head against his chest, grateful for his strength. When she felt his warmth seep through her clothes, she smiled.

  Everything between them had changed so quickly she hadn’t had time to sort through any of it. And she still didn’t. As much as she would like answers, right now, something told her personal relationships of any kind would have to wait. The sense of urgency hovering over her heart like a thundercloud insisted the storm would break and soon. What that would mean to her and Jack, she wasn’t sure.

  Jack pulled her closer.

  “Do you think Detective Venucci will agree that we should go to the ball?”

  He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Like I said before, I trust Lucky. Trust me, he won’t pull any punches.”

  Abby tilted her head back and looked up at Jack. Had he been the nameless, faceless man in her dreams? Her lover? Her protector? Something deep inside her soul whispered, Yes.

  “And I trust you.” Her smile matched his.

  “You should.”

  Abby held on just a little tighter.

  “Don’t get me wrong. This situation is serious, and I would never play it down by taking you to the ball unless Lucky okays it,” he assured her.

  “I know you wouldn’t put my life in danger,” Abby told him quietly. And she did. For now, that fact, in itself, was enough for her. “Looks like we’d better find costumes, just in case.” Unable to shake off a nagging sense of foreboding, Abby decided to do what she could to lighten the mood. She tugged him close enough to whisper in his ear. “Guess what, Hawthorne? You’re shopping.” His hearty laugh took the edge off her nerves. At least for the time being.

  “Renting is not the same as buying,” he insisted as she dragged him arm-in-arm down the first aisle.

  “Is, too.”

  Jack refused to be baited. Instead, he pilfered carefully through the outfits. He slipped one off the rack and held it under Abby’s chin — by way of both breasts.

  “Bo Peep?” she gasped. His choice in costumes hadn’t surprised her nearly as much as his intimate touch, however well-disguised it had been. She was lost in the sensation until the door to the shop banged shut. Untangling her arm from the curved wooden staff, she immediately batted away the layers of organdy ruffles, along with his hands. Finding her voice, she whispered, “You mean to tell me that after this morning … you see me as a little girl?”

  “Only you, Corey.” Jack shook his head. “Only you.”

  Abby heard him mumbling something about simply thinking she would look good in pink. Perusing the rack, she hauled out an Indian garb and inhaled the sweet smell of the leather. Her lips curved in response. “Now this is you.”

  “A warrior, huh?” He smiled.

  “Savage,” she clarified in a sultry voice.

  “Yeah.” He leaned down and whispered. “I can do uncivilized.” His cheek rubbed hers as he spoke.

  “Then you’ll take it?” She swallowed hard, wondering exactly what kind of bargain she’d just made.

  “Can’t.” Jack shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t do makeup.”

  “War paint.” She tried to ignore the tip of his tongue teasing her earlobe.

  “Close enough.”

  “Actually, I was referring more to this.” Abby dangled a tiny loincloth from her finger. Her cheeks warmed at the thought of just how delicious he’d look with or without it.

  “I’ll wear that if you’ll wear this.” He held up a mermaid costume.

  Abby’s eyes widened. “That’s nothing but a fish tail!”

  “I know.” He didn’t blink.

  Abby recognized the passion in Jack’s eyes. Memories of lying naked in his bed. The warm tangle of arms and legs. Skin on skin. “You know, the faster we find our costumes, the faster we get our interviews over with and — ”

  “The faster we get back home,” he finished.

  She flashed him a provocative smile. “Exactly.”

  “Five minutes,” he warned. “That’s all you’ve got.”

  Abby grinned. “Let’s not show each other our costumes. We’ll either wear them to the ball if that’s what the detective suggests, or — ”

  “Deal.”

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “Or we’ll wear them at home,” he finished.

  She turned to walk away, then paused and lowered her voice. “Make it three minutes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Stale cigarette smoke followed Jack and Abby down the dingy corridor of the Twelfth Precinct like a specter. The sound of ringing phones seemed to come from every direction. Bits and pieces of a heated discussion escaped as a nearby door momentarily chinked open, then closed.

  They stepped into the squad room just in time to witness two policemen drag out a burly biker in handcuffs. Amid the tap of computer keys and milling officers, a lonely-looking woman sat, cradling a Styrofoam cup of coffee between work-worn hands and weeping softly.

  Abby’s nerves relaxed a fraction when a tall, striking man smiled and gestured to them from a nearby office doorway.

  “Detective Venucci.” He shook the hand Abby offered. “Just call me Lucky.”

  “Abby Corey.”

  The police officer nodded. “Hey, Jack. Come in and sit down.”

  Abby took the seat next to Jack and waited while Detective Venucci shut the door and sat down behind his desk. His office was modest. To his right, there was one metal, three-drawer filing cabinet. A gunmetal gray cabinet with two doors that opened from its center occupied the opposite wall. One window behind him provided the only natural light in the room, and the
Venetian blinds covering it had been closed. Accordion folders were stacked haphazardly on the floor around his chair, and papers, faxes and files covered every inch of his desktop.

  “Looks like I’m the new kid on the block,” he began, “so you’re going to have to fill me in. I don’t know anything about you, your background or your business, but what I do know is that there has been an attempt on someone’s life.” He paused and grabbed one of the legal pads and a pen before continuing. “It’s my job to determine if you’re the target, Ms. Corey, or if you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and it’s Jack they’re after.”

  Jack reached out and gave Abby’s hand a squeeze.

  “I’m sure you’re a very busy man, Detective,” Abby pointed out. “Thank you for taking the time to see us on such short notice.”

  “No problem. And call me Lucky.”

  Abby nodded.

  “I’m going to ask you a lot of questions and some of them may seem a bit personal,” Venucci continued. “I want you to know up front this is strictly standard procedure.”

  “I understand.” Abby tried to clear her mind and focus on the individual circumstances that had brought them here today.

  “Okay then. Let’s start at the beginning.”

  Abby took a deep breath. “I received a call from Mr. Hawthorne’s office informing me of an inheritance. I’m here in Boston to pick it up.”

  “How much and from whom?”

  Abby turned toward Jack. “No money. Just a necklace and the benefactor is unknown.”

  “This necklace has been passed down from law firm to law firm since the late 1600’s,” Jack added.

  Lucky leaned back in his chair. “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. The note requested the pendant be given to Abigail Corey by October 31, of this year.”

  Lucky frowned. “Come on, Jack. How’s that possible?”

  “Beats the hell out of me,” Jack told him honestly. “All I know is that I have the directive. It’s documented and authentic.”

  “Right.” Lucky waited a beat. “Well then, how valuable is this necklace?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t had it appraised,” Abby pointed out. “I’d say the stone is amber, but there’s a flaw or what looks like a teardrop-shaped mark in the middle, so whatever it is, it’s certainly not perfect.”

  “Not valuable enough to kill for?” Venucci continued, taking notes as he spoke.

  “I can’t say for sure,” Abby admitted. “But it doesn’t appear to be.”

  “Okay. Then let’s take the necklace out of the equation.” He swiveled his chair slightly to face Abby. “If this was an attempt on your life, Ms. Corey, can you think of anyone who might want you dead?”

  “No.” Abby answered without hesitation.

  “So, exactly who knows you’re here?”

  “No one, I guess.” Abby thought a moment. She had mentioned to Jacques and J.T. she’d be going out east, but she had never been specific. “I can’t think of a soul who knew I was coming to Boston.”

  “No one? Not family or friends?” he probed.

  Saddened by the realization, she merely shook her head.

  “Have you made any enemies through your business? Maybe disgruntled employees?”

  “No.” Abby began, picking absently at the gauze wrap on her injured wrist.

  “Any problems with debt? Unpaid suppliers? Anything like that?”

  “Not at all. My accounts are paid in full and always have been.” Meeting his gaze, she added, “I’ve actually thought about this a lot the past couple of days, and I really can’t remember having problems with anyone.”

  “What about a boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  The detective scribbled as she continued. “Have you broken off any relationships recently?” the detective asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you know anyone here in Boston besides Mr. Hawthorne?”

  Abby shook her head. “The only people I’ve even come into contact with are the employees at Hannah’s Inn and the hotel I stayed at last night.” She turned to Jack. “What’s the name of that place?”

  “Adam’s Inn.

  “Oh, yeah.” Venucci nodded then repeated with a smirk, “Adam’s Sin.”

  Abby cringed. Remembering her hasty departure from Jack’s house, she clarified, “It was the first one listed in the phone book.”

  “Okay.” The detective paused momentarily. “Who knew you would be driving Jack’s car?”

  “No one.” Abby looked at Jack.

  Venucci momentarily shifted his gaze. “Anyone?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone.” Jack thought a moment. “Well, someone did stop by trying to catch me before I went to the office, so I bummed a ride to work.”

  “Name?”

  “Bridget Bishop. But she doesn’t even know Abby.” Jack ignored the instant knot in his gut.

  Abby felt the cold rush of dread at the mention of the woman’s name and turned to Jack. “You mean the woman from the haunted house?” She remembered the creepy, unearthly home she had seen the day they spent in Salem. The same house that literally vibrated with palpable malevolence. Emanated with enough evil to stop her dead in her tracks. Bridget Bishop … Maxine’s conversation flashed through Abby’s mind.

  “Yeah.” Jack would have laughed at Abby’s description if not for the sincere look in her eyes.

  “Oh.” Abby heard the hollow ring to her response but could not conceal it. Her physical reaction insisted this woman was connected somehow.

  Lucky redirected his attention to Abby. “Have you noticed anything suspicious that we haven’t discussed? Anything at all, no matter how insignificant it seemed at the time.”

  Abby sighed. “That’s the really weird part,” she began, shifting uneasily in her chair. “There have been … I don’t know … little things. Just stuff that I can’t quite put my finger on.”

  “Such as,” the detective coaxed.

  Abby felt uncomfortable and shrugged. “It’s more of a feeling. I don’t know. Maybe like someone’s watching me.”

  “Have you seen anyone strange hanging around?”

  “Well,” Abby hesitated. “I could have sworn this car was following me yesterday, but I talked myself out of it.”

  “Where did this occur?”

  Jack butted in. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Abby ignored him and sat up a little straighter, directing her answer to Venucci. “When I left the hotel — Adam’s Inn,” she clarified. “Yesterday morning.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Jack repeated.

  This time it was Lucky’s turn to ignore Jack. “Approximately what time?”

  “Early.” She thought a moment. “About eight-thirty.”

  “How long did the car follow you?” Venucci asked, jotting down details without looking up.

  Abby didn’t hesitate. “It stayed with me long enough for me to notice. Quite a while. So, I doubled back. As I turned into the hotel parking lot, it was still with me but kept on going. I’d say a good fifteen minutes.”

  “Could you I.D. the make and model?”

  “I’m sorry.” Abby sighed, fully aware that Jack was glaring holes in her but refusing to face him. “I don’t know much about cars, and I wasn’t close enough to read the plates. The only thing I remember is that it was red.”

  “That’s a good start. The fact that you were aware of the car in the first place probably means you saw more than you realize.” Lucky held Abby’s gaze. “Can you tell me anything at all about the driver?”

  “Well, it’s hard to say.” Abby tried desperately to remember. “He stayed far enough behind to keep me from getting a really good look.”

  “He?” Detective Venucci r
epeated. “So, the driver was a man.”

  “Some man was following you, and you just didn’t bother to tell me,” Jack said, flailing both hands in the air in disbelief.

  Neither Lucky nor Abby looked at him.

  Despite the interruption, Abby had gotten the gist of Venucci’s questioning. “Definitely a man.” She paused to conjure up a clearer image in her mind’s eye. “In fact he was a bald man,” she stated deliberately. “He had a — ”

  “ — bushy, dark mustache?” Jack’s blood ran cold.

  Dumbfounded, Abby merely nodded.

  Jack jumped up. “That son-of-a — ”

  “You know him?” she asked.

  “Dammit, Abby, did you really think that I would leave you at that hotel alone after coming back and finding your door open?”

  “What?” Flashes of sitting miserably in a chair until dawn, ramrod stiff, staring at the doorknob — scared to stay, but too scared to leave — leapt through Abby’s mind, immediately switching her confusion to anger. “Well, if you were there, where the hell were you?”

  “Sitting on the floor outside your door.”

  “What?” she repeated.

  “Her door had been open?” Detective Venucci interrupted, this time looking directly at Jack. “You didn’t tell me that.”

  “We went in and looked around, but she said nothing had been taken and insisted on staying.” Jack shrugged. “I figured the latch just didn’t catch when she left.”

  “Where had you two been prior to this?” Lucky asked.

  “We ate dinner at The Grotto,” Jack told him.

  Abby added the scant details of the unsettling phone call she had received after being followed by the red car, if, in fact, she had really been tailed.

  Jack jumped to his feet. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me any of that?”

  Unintimidated, Abby looked up and shook her head. “I figured it was a wrong number, and for crying out loud, Jack, how many red cars are there in Boston?” Without waiting for his answer, she added, “Besides, I felt embarrassed enough without pointing my finger at thin air.”

  Jack paced then faced her. “I do not believe in coincidences. Someone has been close. Way too close. He not only phoned your hotel room to scare you off, but he stole your amulet.”