“But you didn’t have that understanding then. What made you decide to help Priscilla and Gabe get together?”
She didn’t respond, just held my gaze, her lips tightly clamped.
“Rae must’ve been furious about that. There were other unattached boys in the village. Why Gabe?”
Again, no response.
“I understand that you arranged a gathering of The Pack the night Priscilla died because you wanted to settle the rift between your friends.”
She flinched, the tiniest bit, at the word friends. “You’re well-informed, Sheriff O’Shea. Where did you get your information?”
“My grandmother’s journals. I also spoke with Effie and Cybil.”
“You’re basing your accusations on a work of fiction and second-hand memories from forty years ago? I’m sure Effie and Cybil agreed with everything Lucy said, didn’t they?” Her nostrils flared. “Those three shared a brain. Did they tell you that the only investigation done was by your grandmother?” She laughed. “You’re wasting your time and mine, Sheriff. You have nothing to go on.”
“My grandmother told the entire village that you were responsible for Priscilla’s death.”
Flavia froze, then narrowed her eyes at me. Hatred oozed from her like pus from an infected wound.
“You hated my grandmother for that, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did,” she insisted with a hiss that made Meeka sit up. “It wasn’t true. I told you, Priscilla was my best friend. All I wanted was for her to have a happy life.”
That statement sounded rehearsed, pre-prepared for moments like this. “You’ve been carrying that hatred around for nearly forty years.”
She considered this. “I suppose I have.”
“Sounds like motive for murder to me.”
“Murder?”
“Yes, Flavia. As I’m sure you’re well aware, my grandmother was murdered.”
“No, she—”
“Drowned in her bathtub?” I shook my head. “Funny, the autopsy report was missing from her file.”
Flavia stiffened, and I felt like I’d just scored the winning touchdown in the playoffs.
“Did you think Sheriff Brighton had disposed of her file?” Because she had instructed him to do so? “Reeva found it while going through his den. The autopsy report was missing, but I got another copy. There was no water in Gran’s lungs. This means she was dead before she ended up in that tub.” I opened a picture of the mark drawn on Gran’s chest. “Remember this?”
She squinted at my phone. “The full stop mark found on Yasmine’s body."
“Velma drew this same mark on Priscilla’s body before it was buried, didn’t she?”
Flavia’s eyes took on a far-off stare and her features softened again. “They’d been practicing the Theban alphabet together. They thought it would be fun to use in their spell book.”
“This particular mark,” I indicated the picture on the phone, “is on my grandmother. Over her heart. I see a pattern here. Do you?” I paused, but Flavia just blinked. “Nothing to say? You’re not surprised by any of this?” Blink. “Why? Because you already knew the mark had been drawn on her?” Still nothing. “Flavia, did you kill my grandmother?”
“You’d just love it if I had, wouldn’t you?” A slow smile turned her mouth. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Sheriff, but I did not kill your grandmother. I was sick the night she died. Wracked with an awful stomach flu. Check with the healing center. They prepared a concoction for me.”
“A witch of your caliber goes to the healing center? Why not prepare your own concoction?”
Perhaps she already had. One that made her sick.
“I told you, I was ill.” She said each word slowly, as though I was dense. “Preparing medication requires precision, and I could barely stand. I had no choice but to rely on others that night.”
“How convenient.”
“As I said, check with the healing center.”
Meeka jumped to attention as I pushed back from the table. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Chapter 22
Jola placed a finger on her computer screen. “I can confirm that Flavia Reed was here in early February. I can’t reveal more than that without a warrant or her permission.”
“Can you confirm that she was here for a stomach ailment?”
Jola pondered the question while staring at the screen. “I can’t not confirm it.”
Good enough, Flavia told the truth about the stomach bug. “She says she was treated with a concoction of some kind.”
“On occasion, the center will ask someone in the village to help with holistic treatments.”
I studied her. Jola was all but begging me to understand.
“One of the villagers prepared a holistic concoction,” I thought out loud. “That would require someone with skills in mixing plants, flowers, and herbs.” Jola sneezed, a sound that sounded suspiciously like, Yes. “Someone I know in the village who has skills with mixing plants, flowers, and herbs would be a green witch.”
She held a tissue to her nose, her thumbs up in an awkward sign of affirmation.
“Thanks for your time, Jola. Wish I had a warrant, so you could confirm everything you didn’t tell me.” I gave her a wink and a grin as I left the center.
~~~
It was getting late, so I decided to suspend my investigation until tomorrow. Meeka and I were on the way home when we came to the highway where a figure dressed in head-to-toe flowing black was crossing the bridge. It had to be Morgan. I pulled over to the side of the road and waited for her to finish her journey.
“Hop in and I’ll give you a ride,” I said after lowering the passenger side window.
“Park the car. Let’s walk instead.”
Walk? “It’s raining.”
She cocked an eyebrow and stared.
“I’ll go park the car.”
We continued the short distance to the west side parking lot where I removed my uniform shirt and laid it on the back seat. Then I hooked Meeka’s leash to her harness, and we hurried back to the waiting drenched witch.
“I thought witches melted in the rain,” I teased.
“Wrong kind of witch.” She joined me beneath my oversized umbrella. “I enjoy walking in the rain. It’s cleansing. What’s troubling you, Jayne?”
I didn’t even ask how she knew this time.
“No,” she stopped me, changing her mind before I could say a word, “let’s wait. I have a feeling this is something Mama should hear and there’s no sense in you having to repeat yourself.” Part green witch, part New Age guide, Morgan suggested we “be present in our walk” instead of talking.
The rain pattering on the umbrella sounded rhythmic at times, freestyle at others. I inhaled deeply. The air smelled amazing as the ground and plants soaked up the water and released petrichor, one of my favorite scents. Meeka, drinking from every puddle she came to, enjoyed it, too.
When we got to the bridge that crossed the creek, Morgan took the umbrella from me and closed it. She placed her fingers beneath my chin and tilted my face up to the sky, her fingernails, like tiny bayonets, poked my neck, giving me little choice but to obey. At first, the drops felt sharp as though they were stinging or burning me. I squirmed to free myself from her hold on me, but after a few seconds, a sensation that did feel cleansing took over. As more and more raindrops covered my face and the water ran along my neck and down the rest of my body, my stress started to recede.
Then, I started to laugh. No, not just laugh, I broke out in a fit of giggles. A memory of Rosalyn and I running outside in downpours to splash in puddles came to me. The word that memory brought with it was “free.”
“See?” Morgan smiled, her voice gentle.
She hooked her arm with mine and we continued in silence along the single lane dirt path next to the stream. When we entered her cottage’s front door, Briar called out, “Leave your muddy shoes at the door.”
“Mama,” Morgan ca
lled in return, “I brought a visitor.”
Briar appeared from a doorway down the hall and smiled when she saw me. “Jayne. How lovely. Just in time for dinner.”
“No,” I objected, “you don’t have to feed me.”
“You’re here,” Briar said, “and we’re about to eat. There’s no sense in you sitting and watching us do so. End of discussion. I’d tell you to wash your hands, but it looks like you’ve already had a cleansing.”
Easy to tell where Morgan learned her habits.
We took a moment to dry off and Morgan lent me a T-shirt dress, covered in broomsticks and pointy witch hats, to wear while my clothes dried. I took a seat at the small round table tucked into the corner of their cozy kitchen. All of it—from the wood floor inlaid with brick and scattered with multi-colored braided rugs, to the sage-green cupboards, to the four-foot tall and wide fireplace with a cauldron hanging from a hook—made me feel at home.
“I decided,” Briar began, “that such a damp day calls for something comforting. The garden is rejoicing in all this nourishment. We should do the same.”
She placed a large steaming bowl of homemade macaroni and cheese in front of me. I could tell just by peering into the bowl that the cheese would be gooey, the bits of diced pancetta salty and perfectly savory. Once again, I started to giggle.
“What’s funny?” Briar asked, laughing with me.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I guess it’s that this feels so perfect when not much else does right now.”
Morgan held up a hand. “Eat now. Imperfections later.”
After giving Meeka her own bowl of cooled mac and cheese, Morgan joined her mom and me at the table. I listened with happy contentment as they discussed their day with each other. Morgan had been grateful for the rainy day, not just for the gardens’ sake, but because Shoppe Mystique wasn’t quite so busy and she could catch up on restocking her inventory. It seemed that moonstones were in high demand this week. Briar had a simple day of enjoying her own cleansing—which I interpreted to mean she skipped naked around her garden—and preparing dinner.
Once we were done eating, I insisted on helping Morgan with the dishes while Briar and Meeka had a quiet conversation in the corner.
Finally, Morgan placed three mugs of tea around the table. “All right, tell us what’s going on.”
I told them about all I had learned in Gran’s journals. I told them about my conversation with Effie and Cybil. And then about my visit with Flavia.
“I was so sure,” I said. “Everything was leading up to the fact that Flavia was responsible for Priscilla’s death. Do either of you remember preparing a brew on the night Gran died?”
“I did,” Briar said immediately. “The girls from the healing center called me and said they needed something for a stomach flu. I gave them a concoction of mint, elderflower, and yarrow. My twist is to steep the mixture with a jasper stone, which is removed before consuming, of course. Why?”
“That brew was for Flavia.”
“And why is that upsetting?” Morgan asked.
“Because it gives Flavia an alibi for the night Gran died.” I felt my stress level rising again. Morgan pointed at the mug of tea in front of me. I took a sip and then another. I was calmer, but still frustrated. “Everything was leading to Flavia.”
Briar took the mug from me and set it to the side. Then she took my hands in her own garden-tough ones and just held them. Within seconds, the contact caused emotion to swell in me and the next thing I knew, tears were sliding down my cheeks.
“Look at me, Jayne.” Briar’s voice was gentle but firm. When I did, she said, “Is it that everything led to Flavia being the killer, or is it that you wanted Flavia to be the killer?”
I considered this for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
Using my own interrogation tactics against me, she said nothing, letting me sit in silence until I couldn’t stand it anymore and had to respond.
“I wanted a quick resolution. I found out about Priscilla’s death in Gran’s journal and then spoke with Effie and Cybil. The three of them agreed on the circumstances and that’s what led me to Flavia.”
“But?” Briar prodded.
“But they weren’t there the night Priscilla died. I have to talk to the people that were actually there.”
“You skipped a step,” Briar concluded. “Remember? I told you to gather all information before coming to me.”
I laughed and pulled one of my hands from hers to wipe the tears from my face. “I guess I did. I went straight from secondhand information to accusation. That’s not good police work.”
“What are you going to do next?” Morgan asked. “What’s your plan?”
“My plan is to speak with Laurel, Honey, Sugar, Reeva—” I looked pointedly at Briar—“and you. You were there. You know what happened to Priscilla.”
“As I told you before,” Briar said, “I can only give you my version of the events. After you have gathered information from everyone else, I will tell you what I remember and then help you put the pieces together.”
“But I’m here now,” I objected, my tone verging on whiny. “Help me out. Tell me what you remember.”
Briar responded by pressing her lips together and giving me a mom look.
“There is one thing we can do to help her right away,” Morgan said to Briar.
Oh no. Woo-woo time.
“Agreed.” Briar seemed to read Morgan’s thoughts. A common parlor trick with these two. “We can do that much.”
They led me to the atrium at the back of the cottage. This room, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and glass ceiling, was where they gardened in the winter. It was truly amazing, and I wasn’t at all surprised to find out that this was also their altar room. A Triple Moon Goddess symbol was etched into the top of the large wooden table at the center of the room. I hadn’t noticed that the first time I was in here. I had noticed the tiles inlaid into the floor, but not that they created a circle around the table.
I stood patiently and watched as they prepared the table by smudging it with an herb bundle first then adding a cloth, a purple candle, and an incense holder. After a moment of silent meditation, Morgan presented me with two items.
“Amethyst to calm and soothe,” she said of the deep purple crystal she placed in my right palm and then a dark blue stone in my left. “Lapis lazuli for clarity. You need to cleanse them in the smoke of the incense now.”
“I do? Why me?”
“Because if I did it, they would belong to me. By holding them in the smoke”—she lit the incense cone in the flame of the purple candle—"you infuse them with your intent.”
“Let me guess. I need to be thinking something while I’m doing this?” I was getting used to Morgan’s rituals.
“Very good,” she grinned. “Our intent is to help you become calm and clear so that when the truth presents to you, you will see it. You weren’t calm or clear when you spoke to Flavia. That has cost you time and unnecessary stress.”
No matter how many times Morgan involved me with these rituals, I would never believe that anything unnatural or supernatural, or whatever, was taking place. But being with two people who believed so strongly, the way Morgan and Briar did, comforted me and put me in the proper mindset—calm and clear in this case. So, I played along.
Holding the amethyst between my thumb and index finger, I held the crystal in the smoke of the sandalwood incense. As I turned the crystal all directions in the smoke, I thought, calm. I did the same with the lapis lazuli and thought, clarity.
“Now what?” I whispered.
Briar took me by the elbow and moved me away from the table but still inside the circle on the floor. Then the two women held hands, encircling me with their arms as they did. While clutching my treasures, I looked between the two as they chanted what sounded like a prayer. When they were done, they simply released hands and stepped away. Somehow, that felt a bit anti-climactic.
&
nbsp; “Who were you praying to?” I asked.
“Ma’at,” Briar said. “She is the goddess of harmony.”
“Ma’at presides over justice and truth.” Morgan winked at her mother. “Sounds like someone we know.” She gave me two small white cloths. “When you’re not using the crystal and the stone, keep them wrapped in the cloths. That way no one but you can handle them.”
“Using them,” I repeated. “What am I supposed to do with them?”
“Place them beneath your pillow tonight,” Briar instructed. “The truth will come to you by morning. Do this anytime you’re seeking clarity.”
“It will come to me. Like in a dream?”
“Not necessarily,” Briar said, “but possibly.”
“It’s more like your intuition will be enhanced when you wake,” Morgan added. “This will be powerful for you since your instincts are already strong. Trust them.”
Before I left, Briar fed us one last time. Continuing with the “comfort food” theme of the evening, she had prepared a warm fudge cake which she topped with creamy vanilla ice cream.
“This,” I said of the dessert, “is wonderful. It wouldn’t fit with the breakfast aspect of our bed-and-breakfast, but it might be nice to have desserts available for our guests at night.”
“If Tripp wants my recipe,” Briar said, “send him over.”
“You don’t think I could make it?” I smiled for the first time in hours.
“We all have our strengths, dear,” she said and left it at that.
Chapter 23
I woke, with the amethyst and lapis lazuli beneath my pillow, to my alarm at six-thirty the next morning. The thought that immediately slammed into my head was that I had left the journals on my desk at work. I hadn’t even shut them. I had placed the one I’d been reading face down on my desk at the spot where I had left off, which meant the morning after Priscilla died. The entry where Gran basically accused Flavia of murder.
Original Secrets: A Whispering Pines Mystery, Book 3 Page 18