Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3

by Karin Kaufman

  “Jazmin,” Anna said, “I was worried about you. I heard you were attacked.”

  Jazmin ran her palm across the back of her head. “My head hit a rock. Stupid.”

  Jazmin spoke as though she’d been walking alone and simply fallen. No assault had taken place. “You make it sound like it was your fault,” Anna said.

  “It’s minor,” Darlene said, leaning back in her blue plastic chair. “They don’t think she has a concussion.”

  “I’ve got a headache, that’s all,” Jazmin added. “I’m going home first thing tomorrow morning. I’d like to go home now, really, though it’s kind of nice being waited on.”

  Darlene smiled up at Anna. “Thank goodness for my store’s health insurance.”

  “Sure.” Anna flashed a tiny smile. Darlene was playing the noble, caring ruler again. The beneficent plantation owner. I’ll take care of you if you never leave.

  Anna looked for a chair, but it seemed that Darlene was sitting in the only one on Jazmin’s side of the room. She longed to sit down. Her legs felt weak and her hands still shook. It wasn’t fear, it was anger. There was Darlene, smiling, joking, talking about paths and health insurance, two feet from the girl she’d cursed an hour ago and several more feet from someone she’d wanted Hecate to deal with.

  “Looking for a chair?” Jazmin said. “Take one from the other side. Mrs. Waller won’t mind, right Mrs. Waller?”

  There was no answer from the next bed. The woman faced away from Jazmin toward a small television she’d pulled close to her bed. Only her pillow-flattened white hair, poking through a pale yellow hospital blanket, was visible.

  “Mrs. Waller, you won’t mind if we take a chair, will you?” Jazmin repeated, her voice louder this time.

  The woman turned her face and spoke to the ceiling. “Go right ahead,” she said, before looking back at the television. “But bring it back when you’re done. I have visitors in twenty minutes.”

  “This late?” Darlene asked.

  “They make an exception for Christmas Eve,” the woman said.

  Anna took the chair from Mrs. Waller’s bedside and carried it to Jazmin’s bed, squeezing it between the door and Jazmin’s own television.

  “There’s room on this side,” Darlene said, a bemused look on her face.

  “I’m fine here.” Anna gave Darlene the smallest of glances as she spoke. She decided right then to call the police on her cell as soon as Darlene left the room. She’d talk to Schaeffer if he was working. Rowan had attacked Jazmin, she was sure of it. He had done Darlene’s bidding.

  “Darlene wanted to know how I was doing so she could report back to Rowan,” Jazmin said. “He’s worried but he can’t come right now.”

  “Ah.” Anna smiled weakly at Jazmin. The girl still believed Rowan cared about her. It was foolish, but it showed the gentleness and trust that remained in her heart. “Aside from the headache how are you feeling?”

  “Not bad, just tired.” She reached for a pink plastic cup on the nightstand next to her television and took a long sip on the straw.

  “Do you have any idea who did this?” Anna asked.

  “I was just telling Darlene, I can’t remember anything.”

  Jazmin had been told she didn’t remember, Anna thought, even though she may have suspected. “Did the person who attacked you say anything?”

  “Nothing. I don’t remember at all.”

  Anna saw Darlene from the corner of her eye, smiling generously, the picture of motherly concern. She had the ability to change on a dime, from unhinged witch to attentive mentor with a heart of gold, and that made her all the more dangerous.

  “I was telling Jazmin that she should learn some protection spells,” Darlene said.

  “Yeah, that’ll work,” Anna said.

  Darlene gave Anna a smile. “She could get herself a dog, but they’re a lot of trouble, and they get so lonely when you leave them at home.”

  Anna didn’t return the smile. “Jackson’s with me. And he’ll be with me at all times until I find out who hurt him.” Was Darlene slipping up? she wondered. Bringing up Jackson’s name again in front of Jazmin was risky. “By the way, Darlene, how did you know Jazmin was here?”

  “The man who called the police knew Jazmin and I were friends and drove straight to the store after the ambulance arrived,” Darlene said, still smiling. “He picked me up and drove me over.”

  It was such a bald-faced lie that Anna couldn’t believe Darlene had the gall to say it. And Jazmin, her face tenderly placid, believed her.

  “How did you get here so fast, Anna?” Darlene asked.

  “My friend with the website has a contact in the police department.”

  “Handy.”

  “Yup, it is.” She unzipped her jacket half way down then stuck her hands in her pockets, curling the fingers of her right hand around the spool of ribbon. “So who do you think did this, Darlene? You must have an idea.”

  Darlene shrugged, her expression now changing to one of bewildered innocence. “A mugger, I suppose?”

  “In Elk Park on Christmas Eve?” Anna fixed her eyes on Jazmin. “Were you mugged? Was anything stolen?”

  “I didn’t have anything to steal,” Jazmin said. She took another sip from the cup and put it back on the nightstand.

  “But you had a purse,” Anna said. “You left the store with it.”

  Jazmin’s gaze dropped to her hands. “Nobody took it. The man who called the police gave it to me.”

  “Maybe the mugger didn’t know you had a purse,” Darlene said.

  “The mugger,” Anna said, holding Darlene’s gaze. She wanted to shriek, to give in to her mounting rage—not only at Darlene but at Jazmin. Jazmin knew the sort of woman Darlene was. She’d seen it in technicolor in the parking lot behind What Ye Will. “So let me see if I have this right. Jazmin was mugged, but the mugger forgot to take her purse.”

  Darlene stiffened. Her expression of innocence was gone, replaced by an icy look that said, You know, don’t you? You know I’m the cause of this.

  A tingle crept across Anna’s neck. She was letting her anger get the best of her. “Think about it, Darlene,” she said, battling the tone of her voice, trying to lighten it. “A mugger would look for a purse before attacking. Jazmin still has her purse. This was an assault, not a mugging.”

  Darlene crowed. “What are you now, an expert on mugging?”

  “Anna has a point,” Jazmin said, throwing a look in Mrs. Waller’s direction and putting a finger to her lips.

  Anna heard Liz call her name and swiveled in her seat.

  “Can I leave this with you a sec?” Liz said, handing Anna her laptop. “I need to talk to someone. Be right back.”

  “Your friend with the police contact?” Darlene said after Liz left the room.

  “That’s right. She had my genealogy ad on her website. You know, the ad you saw for my genealogical services before you hired me to do Susan Muncy’s family tree.”

  “Oh, yes.” Darlene bristled with delight, her neck arching like a strutting bird.

  Jazmin looked from Anna to Darlene, a shadow of recognition passing over her face, as if mention of the Muncy tree had brought her a sliver closer to earth, helping her remember who it was sitting at her bedside.

  “So Jazmin,” Darlene said, “I’ll call Rowan and let him know you’re doing better.”

  Was Darlene getting ready to leave? Until then, Anna wouldn’t set foot outside Jazmin’s room. She’d wait until Liz came back, then call the police. But what would she say? She had no proof that Darlene was a danger to anyone.

  Anna imagined the look she’d get from Detective Schaeffer if she told him about Darlene’s claim to be Evelyn Hargrave’s granddaughter—or that Darlene’s mother and Susan Muncy’s grandmother were born two years apart in Rockford, Illinois. He’d ask her what that had to do with Susan’s death or the attack on Jazmin, and she’d have no answer.

  But Anna was convinced that Darlene and Evelyn Hargrave wer
e at the heart of both incidents. Darlene’s counterfeit family, her witch royalty, meant everything to her. She’d built her life around it. Her claim to victimhood and her disdain for anything less than hereditary witches were testaments to it. She’d kill to keep it.

  “Oh, look, Santa Claus,” Jazmin said. Anna looked in time to see a heavily padded man in a Santa Claus suit trudge down the hall, a pillowcase sack slung over one shoulder.

  “A nurse said there are a lot of kids on this floor,” Jazmin said.

  “How nice of the hospital to do that for them,” Anna said.

  Darlene rolled her eyes. “How nice.”

  Jazmin stared at her employer, her lips parted in confusion.

  “Kids should be asleep at this hour.” Mrs. Waller was seemingly speaking to her television. “Santa Claus going from room to room like that, spreading colds and who knows what else. Children never used to be allowed in hospitals.”

  Darlene muttered something under her breath and buttoned her coat.

  “Are you leaving?” Jazmin asked.

  “I need to get back to the store.” A look of anticipation flickered across her face. A second later it was gone.

  “Maybe Anna can give you a ride home.” Jazmin looked hopefully at Anna. She was playing matchmaker, nudging them into being friends.

  Darlene chuckled. “I’d rather walk.”

  “Thanks for coming,” Jazmin said. “Say hi to Rowan.”

  “I will.” She leaned in close to Anna as she passed her on her way to the door. “Goodbye, genealogist.”

  23

  Anna watched Darlene leave the room. She silently counted off ten seconds, holding a hand up so that Jazmin would not speak, then got up and peered out the door. Darlene had disappeared around the corner. Anna returned her chair to Mrs. Waller’s bedside, slid Darlene’s chair close to Jazmin, and leaned toward her, keeping her voice low. “Jazmin, who attacked you?”

  Jazmin said nothing.

  “I haven’t got time for this. You know who it was.”

  She bit her lip and looked away. “I was so stupid.”

  “Who said you were stupid? Darlene? Rowan?”

  She turned back fiercely. “I said I was stupid. Why are you always blaming Darlene and Rowan?”

  “Why do you keep defending her?” Anna rubbed her forehead. Jazmin had just run from Darlene. But now, given the choice between acknowledging that or losing her, she chose to defend Darlene. It was clear she was afraid Darlene would leave her, and then so would Rowan. As close as she was to Rowan, Jazmin knew if he were forced to make a choice, he’d choose Darlene. And who would she have then?

  As frustrated as Anna was with Jazmin, she felt pity for her too. If Darlene suspected disloyalty, she’d fire the girl, and if Jazmin lost her job and Rowan, her one friend, she’d be adrift in the world, without money or family. It was enough to make her turn a blind eye to behavior that frightened her. It was easier to tell herself she was being stupid than to face facts, and the world, without Darlene and Rowan.

  Anna knew that only one thing would shake Jazmin’s misplaced loyalty—knowing that Darlene and Rowan had lied to her about who they were. They’d been lying to her all along.

  Anna said a silent prayer for help, flipped open Liz’s laptop, and called up a genealogy website. “I need to show you something.” Stone by stone, she’d tear down the edifice Jazmin had erected. She’d start with the smaller stones, then she’d move to the foundation. “You tell Rowan everything, don’t you? About your family, how angry your parents were when you got into wicca. You trust him.”

  “We’re family.”

  “Then why would Rowan lie to you about his background?” She navigated to the web page she’d found last night.

  “He doesn’t. I know his real name. I told you, remember?”

  Anna moved the screen close so Jazmin could see. “Smolak is his real name, but only after about age six. See? He wasn’t part of the Smolak family until then. He was adopted.”

  Jazmin stared at the screen. “He was?”

  “Do you have any idea where he’s really from or what his birth name was?”

  Jazmin paused, momentarily disheartened, then rose again to Rowan’s defense. “Why should Rowan tell me his birth name? I didn’t tell him mine for a long time.”

  “But you didn’t lie about it to him.”

  “Maybe he didn’t know he was adopted.”

  “A six year old knows.”

  “He just didn’t want me to know he was adopted. He was embarrassed.”

  “So who is he? Is he Rowan or Seth or someone else?”

  “He’s someone who helps me.” Jazmin’s voice was small and wavering, like that of a child. “Remember when you were at my apartment? I was afraid when you said you were coming and Rowan came to help.”

  “He came to keep an eye on me—and you. To make sure you didn’t tell me anything. And my guess is he also came to make sure you found the athame Darlene told him to stick in your couch the night before.”

  “No.” Jazmin’s face puckered up, resentment building inside her.

  “Darlene took an athame from her store, wrote a note in that ridiculous witch’s alphabet, and asked Rowan to sneak into your apartment.”

  “Now you’re just making things up.”

  “I’ll bet he has a key.”

  Jazmin stared straight ahead.

  “He does, doesn’t he?”

  Jazmin, her eyes saucers, turned her attention to the far wall, then the window near Mrs. Waller’s bed.

  “Rowan stuck the athame in your couch to keep you in line and to threaten me. And to make sure I was threatened, Darlene told the police I stole the athame. Remember?” Anna leaned to her right to catch Jazmin’s eye, but the girl was now looking at Mrs. Waller, as if focusing on her hospital roommate would take her away from Anna and the unbearable picture being painted.

  “Jazmin, do you know what that note said? ‘We’re family, don’t betray us.’ Family. Those two turn their backs on family, they lie about family, they lie to you so you think you’re family. They don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  Jazmin’s head snapped back. “They do.”

  It was time to move on to Darlene. Anna pulled the laptop close and typed. “Have you ever heard of Marianne Kellner?” she said, moving the cursor over a link.

  “No.” Jazmin bit her lip. She didn’t want to hear this, whatever it was.

  “She’s Darlene’s mother, the woman she never talks about. Marianne W. Kellner, supposedly the daughter of Evelyn Hargrave. You remember Evelyn, right? Darlene talks about her all the time.”

  “Darlene’s grandmother.”

  “Not exactly.” Anna looked at the screen and fingered the edge of the laptop. “Dallas C. Kellner married Evelyn Hargrave in 1923. Then Dallas got divorced and married Doris Weston in 1929, the year before Marianne W. Kellner was born.”

  Anna looked up. Jazmin’s face was clouded with confusion. Anna slid the computer onto the girl’s lap and pointed at the screen. “Darlene’s grandmother, the famous witch, isn’t Darlene’s grandmother.”

  Jazmin shook her head from side to side, her eyes fixed on screen. “But she knew Evelyn.”

  “Sure she did. Evelyn married her grandfather. But Doris Weston is Darlene’s real grandmother. I’ll bet Marianne’s middle initial stands for Weston. Children are often given their mother’s maiden name as a middle name.”

  Jazmin looked like she was about to cry. Anna felt a spark of sympathy but extinguished it. It was the same old pattern, she thought. Jazmin briefly faced the truth, cried, claimed no one understood her, then proceeded with her life as if she had learned nothing. It was time for it to stop.

  “All Darlene’s stories about her witch ancestry are a lie. Evelyn Hargrave wasn’t her grandmother.”

  Jazmin pressed her hands together, her eyes still on the laptop’s screen. “She lied to me.”

  “Yes.”

  “She talks about Evelyn all the tim
e. And Julian Brandon and how they lived together in London. But her real grandmother’s not even a witch?”

  “There was one person who did come from a family of witches, going back to the eighteenth century. Susan Muncy.”

  Jazmin looked up.

  “That’s what I discovered doing Susan’s family tree. Darlene knew Susan was a witch, but she made a deal with Tom Muncy to keep her out of the coven.”

  “But everyone knows about Darlene. And she really is a very powerful—”

  “Not again,” Anna interrupted. “No more witches, no more druids.” She slid the laptop along the bed, close enough so she could type as she talked. “Susan Muncy’s grandmother, Rose Robinson, was born in Rockford, Illinois, and so was Marianne, Darlene’s mother. It’s one heck of a coincidence, Jazmin, don’t you think?” Coincidence. Funny that word kept popping up, Anna thought. Coincidence was the one thing it couldn’t be.

  “So?”

  “Rose and Marianne. Susan’s grandmother, Darlene’s mother.”

  Jazmin was silent. She knew the names should worry her, but she didn’t understand why.

  Anna stared open-mouthed at the computer screen, trying to take in what she was seeing. “This has to be them,” she said, pushing out of her chair and leaving the computer on the bed. She strode to the door, checked the hallway in both directions, then went back to her seat.

  Jazmin, looking frightened and bewildered, opened her mouth to speak, but Anna jumped in.

  “Listen to this. It’s a website called World Witch Wars. ‘By the early 1950s, occultist Julian Brandon’s London circle had grown to include several Americans. One of them, Rose Robinson, was rumored to be Brandon’s lover. Or one of his lovers, that is, as he was said to have maintained several at any one time. But Brandon had a special affection for young Robinson, twenty years his junior. He bought her gifts and called her Hathor, the Egyptian goddess who was consort to the god Horus.’”