Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3

by Karin Kaufman

  Anna knew Jazmin had seen the Brandon book. “Remember The Book of Strategies?” she said. “Monica told me Darlene showed it to you once. It was signed by Brandon and dedicated to ‘my Hathor.’”

  Jazmin merely blinked.

  Anna went on. “By all reports the attention Brandon lavished on Robinson, not to mention his notoriously foul temper, caused a serious rift within his group. In 1952 someone set fire to Brandon’s London apartment, causing minimal damage but intensifying the friction within his circle. Matters worsened later that year when Brandon’s apartment was broken into and several of his prized possessions were stolen, including a rare copy of his first book, the Book of Strategies, which he had given to Rose Robinson. Some blamed the theft on one of Brandon’s disaffected business partners, but the culprit was most likely another young American, a woman who called herself Marianne Weston.”

  Jazmin sucked in her breath.

  Anna waited until Jazmin looked her in the eye. “It seems the Book of Strategies has nothing to do with Darlene’s real grandmother, or even with Evelyn Hargrave, her phony grandmother. It doesn’t belong to Darlene. It was Rose Robinson’s book, and it was stolen by Marianne Weston, a.k.a. Marianne Weston Kellner.”

  Jazmin’s eyes were liquid with tears, but Anna was determined to keep reading.

  “Weston was a friend of Robinson and claimed to be descended from a long line of witches going back to the early eighteenth century in the Province of Massachusetts Bay. It was on that basis that she had charmed her way into Brandon’s London circle. However, Weston had become increasingly disturbed by Brandon’s forays into the occult, which reportedly included calling up the devil, and tried unsuccessfully to talk Robinson into leaving London with her.”

  “The devil,” Jazmin mumbled.

  “In late 1952,” Anna continued, “Weston left London on her own, shortly after the theft of Brandon’s belongings. Robinson returned to Illinois a year later, where she founded one of that state’s first covens. She was contacted in 2001 for an article on Brandon and declined comment. She died in 2003. Further research has been unable to discover what happened to Marianne Weston. Brandon died in London in 1973.”

  Anna pushed her glasses up on her nose and looked squarely at Jazmin. “Everything about Darlene Richelle is a lie.”

  Frown lines creased the space between Jazmin’s brows.

  “Darlene wanted to be named liaison to the governor’s committee, and Tom wanted Susan to stay away from Darlene’s coven. So Tom and Darlene made a deal. Darlene hired me so she could say she’d investigated Susan’s ancestors and had a legitimate reason to deny her entrance.”

  “Maybe.”

  “But Darlene wanted to make sure Tom kept his end of the deal and stayed good and scared of her, so she hired me to show up with Susan’s genealogy and—”

  “No.”

  “That much I know for certain.”

  Jazmin relented. Her shoulders drooped. She knew Anna was right.

  “Susan’s family tree must have terrified Darlene. She had no idea who Susan’s grandmother was until she saw the name Marianne W. Kellner. Marianne Weston.”

  “Did Susan know who Darlene was?”

  “If she didn’t, she would have found out sooner or later, and then she could have used the information to take over the coven, or even expose Darlene, and Darlene had to have known that.”

  Jazmin was too calm. Anna wondered if the girl was putting all the pieces together.

  “Darlene had even more reason to be afraid,” she continued. “She’d bribed a town council member to appoint her as liaison to the governor’s committee. She could lose her store for that alone. And she knew I wasn’t afraid of her, that I’d keep digging. So to keep me quiet, she tried to intimidate me, and she encouraged you and Rowan to help.”

  “All I did was the chalk pentacle.”

  “I know, but Darlene killed the bird and Rowan broke into my house and hurt my dog.”

  “You don’t know for sure.”

  “You heard Darlene tonight, singing the wren song. She had no shame about it, Jazmin. She thought it was funny. She caught a bird, broke its neck, then took nails—”

  “Stop it!” Jazmin slid down in the bed and pulled her blanket to her neck.

  “You’ve got to take some responsibility, Jazmin. Open your eyes.” Anna’s voice rose in frustration. “Rowan’s a devotee of an ancient worm god.” From the corner of her eye Anna saw Mrs. Waller turn her head toward the ceiling. What was the poor woman thinking as she heard this? Even with her TV on she had to be catching some of it.

  Anna lowered her voice. “One thing’s in Rowan’s favor. I don’t believe he’s a murderer. He didn’t kill the bird, and he could have killed Jackson but he didn’t, and I’ll bet Darlene told him to. She sent him to my house. Rowan’s an angry young man, but it was Darlene who killed Susan.”

  “Darlene? How do you know?” Jazmin was both troubled and relieved that Anna was pointing the finger of suspicion at Darlene.

  Anna knew she was winging it now—she didn’t have proof Darlene killed Susan—but Jazmin needed to be persuaded of the possibility. “Did you know Susan was poisoned with yew needles? Yews were sacred to the druids, a symbol of death. If suspicion fell on your little group, Darlene wanted it focused on Rowan, the angry kid. Darlene baked the Yule cake, wrote a little poem of welcome, and gave the cake to Susan.”

  A tear slid out of Jazmin’s eye and rolled down her cheek.

  “Jazmin, they’ll find out Rowan broke into my house, but he’s not a murderer, is he?”

  “I can’t believe Darlene would kill somebody.” The tears were coming now. “That stupid Muncy family tree.”

  “If it hadn’t been the family tree, it would have been something else. The Lord has a way of exposing evil. Two women who knew each other in Rockford, Illinois, and came to know Julian Brandon in London, met again in Colorado through Darlene and Susan. That’s quite a coincidence.” Anna stopped, taken aback once again by that word. Coincidence.

  Jazmin watched Anna. She was listening.

  “I know you’re afraid, Jazmin. I know you don’t like working for Darlene but you don’t know what else to do.” Anna paused, waiting for Jazmin’s denial. It didn’t come. “If I could get you another job, would you take it?”

  Nothing.

  “I think I might be able to. Maybe you could even use your talent for drawing in this job. You’re an artist and you should use your talents. I can’t promise you, but if I could find you a job, would you leave Darlene’s store?”

  Jazmin was hopeful but wary. “I think so.”

  “You’d have to quit today. Right now.”

  “She’d be so mad.”

  “Don’t worry about Darlene. I think you’re going to be the last thing on her mind. Anyway, a few days from now there might not be a What Ye Will.”

  “But Rowan, he’s—”

  “Vindictive?”

  Jazmin lowered her eyes and wiped the tears from her cheeks. They were real this time, not an expression of her self-pity.

  “I’m back,” Liz said, entering the room. She glanced from Anna to Jazmin then back again.

  “Good,” Anna said. Now she had to talk to Gene. He needed help in his store and Jazmin was available. “Take a look at this, Liz,” she said, pointing at the laptop. “Marianne W. Kellner. We were looking her up.” She rose and walked to the end of Jazmin’s bed. “I’ll be back in a minute. If Darlene comes back, keep her away from Jazmin.”

  Mrs. Waller coughed. She’d moved her head to her right as much as possible and was now looking directly at Anna. “Are you talking about that strange woman who smells like a perfume factory? I’ll make sure she stays away. So will my visitors. They’ll be here any minute. Don’t you worry.”

  24

  After asking the receptionist for Roger Westfall’s room, Anna stopped for a quick gulp of hospital coffee from the push-button carafe in the lobby. She hadn’t seen Roger in a month. She was
relieved he was recovering and eager to wish him a merry Christmas.

  She thought about calling Detective Schaeffer, telling him what she knew, but he’d spent the night before patrolling her house and she couldn’t bear the idea of calling him out on Christmas Eve. Jazmin was safe for tonight.

  But she needed to talk to Gene before he left the hospital. He was desperate for help at Buckhorn’s—how about Jazmin? She was an experienced store clerk and a talented artist. Couldn’t Jazmin make some of her own handmade greeting cards, adding her own to those the store sold? She could even start her own line of cards, maybe help Roger make Christmas ornaments.

  You’re getting ahead of yourself, she thought. Store clerk first. It was a good start. Gene needed employees, and he too seemed concerned for Jazmin’s welfare. It could work. And if Gene said yes tonight, Anna could tell Jazmin, and Jazmin could go to sleep knowing she had a new job and a new life. She’d be less likely to fall back under Darlene’s influence, or Rowan’s.

  Anna downed the rest of her coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup in the trash. What a strange way to spend Christmas Eve, she thought. A few days ago she was sure she’d spend the night curled up on the couch with Jackson, watching a fire in the wood stove, remembering Christmases past.

  Jackson. Fear shot down Anna’s spine. He was in the Jimmy in the hospital’s parking lot and Darlene knew it. She knew what the Jimmy looked like, and she’d break into it. She’d stop at nothing—if not to save herself, then out of pure revenge.

  Anna darted for the elevators, half walking, half jogging. She hit the down button with such ferocity that a man and woman approaching the elevator exchanged hesitant, sideways glances. She looked right and left, searching for a stairway exit, but saw none. The elevator doors opened and Anna stepped inside, pushing the first floor button before the couple had crossed over the threshold.

  “Second floor, please,” said the man, pushing the door back open.

  “This is an emergency,” Anna said. “Wait until I get to the first floor.” She was ready to fend them off it they tried to touch the buttons, but they slipped to the back of the elevator, waiting meekly for the doors to close.

  When the doors opened on the first floor, Anna dashed out, heading for the front doors and the parking lot, her eyes and ears alert. She caught sight of her Jimmy, the old Celtic Bluegrass sticker on the back window, the dirt and mud splattered across the tailgate. Her heart was in her throat as she ran for the SUV. The doors were closed, the windows looked intact.

  It was only when she reached the Jimmy that she saw the broken window on the other side. She hit the remote on her key and grabbed for the back door. Jackson was gone.

  She cut a glance front and back, hoping her dog had refused to leave the car and crawled to the front seat or back cargo area. Jackson’s blanket was still on the seat, but his leash was gone. Anna could see the corner of her laptop jutting out from under the seat. No one had taken it. Just Jackson.

  On the windshield Anna spotted a folded scrap of paper, under the wiper and atop a membrane of new-fallen snow. Someone had put it there only moments ago. She backed out of the Jimmy, grabbed the paper, and unfolded it.

  “I do what I will,” it read.

  It was Darlene’s note, Anna knew it. And Darlene had taken her dog. Jackson wouldn’t have let Rowan near him again.

  Anna hopped into the Jimmy, started the engine, and pulled her cell phone from her purse. She dialed Liz’s number, gripping the steering wheel with one hand. “Please, please answer.” There were two things Liz always had with her, her laptop and cell phone. She had to answer.

  “Anna, where are you?” Liz said. “Darlene came back and Jazmin asked her about Marianne Kellner.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Jazmin’s voice sounded faint in the background.

  Anna told Liz about Jackson and the note on her windshield. “I have to find him. I never should have said he was with me. When did Darlene leave?

  “Just three, four minutes ago.”

  “Did she give you any idea where she was going?”

  “No, but she said to tell you that Jazmin’s real name is Hayley Bird Todd. She emphasized Bird. What does that mean?”

  “Darlene killed the bird left outside my door.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t let Jazmin out of your sight, not for a second. I have to find Jackson.” Anna, cell phone to her ear, pulled out of the parking lot onto Palmer Street and bore down on the accelerator, sending her tires shimmying then clutching at the icy road for traction. “Oh, God.” She hadn’t switched over to four-wheel drive. She hit the button on the dash and let up on the accelerator. “Slow down, slow down.”

  “You’re driving? Where?”

  “I’m heading for Summit.” The Jimmy skidded again and Anna downshifted. “And Liz, Darlene killed Susan Muncy.”

  “Anna, don’t go after her.”

  “I have to.”

  “I’m calling the police right now.”

  “Tell them everything and get somebody to What Ye Will. Darlene doesn’t have a car so she’s walking with Jackson. I can catch up to them.”

  The back tires fishtailed again. Anna threw her phone to the seat and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. The roads had become slicker as the temperature had plummeted. She was going only twenty-five miles an hour, but every skid sent her heart into her throat. Easing up on the accelerator, she made a right onto Summit, pointing the Jimmy at the center of the empty road to avoid sliding into cars parked at the curb.

  She braked gently and came to a halt in the middle of the road. Ahead she could see all of the west end of Summit, down to where the road curved north and ran toward Rocky Mountain National Park. There was no one in sight. Not a soul walking or driving. She rolled down the window and listened. Nothing. She was sure Darlene would take Jackson this way. She had to be heading for her store. It was her home in more ways than one.

  Anna drove until she was directly in front of What Ye Will. A “Closed” sign was inside the front door. Darlene had left a light on in the store, and Anna could see through the store’s windows there was no one inside. But maybe in back, in the office, she thought. She pulled to the curb, switched off the engine, and pocketed her cell phone.

  Anna started for the alley at the side of the store. She stopped at the corner and peered down the alley, half expecting to see Darlene standing there, her back to the stuccoed wall, waiting, but the alley, partially lit by the bright lights in the street, looked empty. She moved quickly for the store’s back parking lot, her eyes searching the snow for paw prints. She stopped at the back corner of What Ye Will and scanned the empty lot before moving for the small office window at the back.

  Another light shone from the back window, this one coming from the lamp on Darlene’s desk. Under it was an opened book, a purple ribbon down its center. The Brandon book. Darlene treasured it. Anna couldn’t understand why she’d leave it out in the open. Had she carelessly forgotten to put it back in its place after her party?

  But nothing Darlene did was accidental. Every move, every word, was calculated. The book was in plain view because Darlene wanted it to be seen. “By me,” Anna said aloud.

  She looked behind her at the woods. Nothing in sight, no movement, not a sound. Darlene was on foot, and she’d left the hospital only minutes ahead of her. It was possible, Anna considered, that Darlene was with Jackson on Summit now, still making her way to the store.

  Anna started up the alley, hurrying for the street and its shining lights. On the sidewalk she cast her eyes about, looking for figures in the snow, for a police car or exhaust from the tailpipe of a parked car. Summit had never seemed so wide and hushed. Any sound she might have heard was muffled in the snow, falling heavier now, beating against her face.

  She tasted panic like acid at the back of her throat. Darlene was going to hurt Jackson. She’d do it tonight, quickly, her anger justified and righteous, the sting of Anna’s insults and interference still fresh in her
mind.

  Anna’s mind raced. Where was Jackson? Where were the police? She started across the street, looking toward the rocky outcrop then as far east as she could see, watching for a patrol car or police SUV.

  Several feet from her Jimmy she caught sight of a square, black-on-white street sign, an arrow on it pointing east. Mount Hope Cemetery. The most witch-friendly place in town, according to Darlene. She met with her coven there, Monica had said, and joked about animal sacrifice. The wren, the wren, the king of all birds.

  Anna felt a fearful certainty, an electric current running the length of her spine. Darlene had taken Jackson to the cemetery. As irrational as the woman was about athames and mirrors, she was rational in her violence. She didn’t want to be caught. She would go where she couldn’t be heard or seen.

  Anna took her cell from her pocket, clicked the button for Liz’s number, and was pulling at the SUV’s door handle before she realized her phone wasn’t ringing. She checked the battery indicator. No lines. “Not now!” she screamed. She shoved the phone in her pocket and got behind the wheel. Wind-whipped snow had entered through the Jimmy’s open window and dusted the seat and the top of the dashboard, chilling her.

  She started the engine, rolled up the window, and pulled from the curb, wondering for a moment if she should drive away then circle back, taking Darlene by surprise. But she felt in the core of her bones that Darlene was heading for the cemetery. That’s why she hadn’t seen Darlene and Jackson on Summit. She had to drive to Mount Hope—now. Darlene might already be there. And so might her coven.

  Anna stopped the Jimmy, pulled back to the curb, jumped out, and grabbed the winter emergency box from behind her seat. She pulled out a black marker and reached into her jacket pocket for the spool of red ribbon Gene had given her. After peeling off the tape holding the ribbon to the spool, she grabbed the ribbon’s end and snapped the spool like a yo-yo. The ribbon unrolled and the spool hit the street.

  She scribbled her name and the word “cemetery” several times on both the back and front of the ribbon then dashed to the store’s front door and tied the ribbon to the door handle. It rippled in the wind, two red tails stretching from the door handle, across the display window, down to the sidewalk and up again, billowing, signaling. Anyone driving or walking by would see it. Anna only hoped it was Liz or the police who saw it first, not Darlene or Rowan.