by Sharon Pape
“I’ll do some research on that tomorrow.”
“Good deal,” I said, getting up. “I hate to drink and run, but it’s been a long day and I prefer to drive while my eyes are still open.”
Travis pulled on his coat. “Generally the best way.” We dropped our cups in the garbage on the way to the door. It was fully dark out, the air colder than it had been half an hour earlier. “I’ll walk you to your car,” Travis said. “Did you park near the courthouse?”
“Yes, but it’s not necessary,” I replied.
“Of course it is. Have you forgotten there’s a killer out there?”
Chapter 28
The next morning Tilly wanted to hear all about the interview. She bustled into my shop as if she didn’t have a bunion to her name. With her sneakers on, she was practically Olympic material. “Give me the lowdown,” she said, forgoing the chair. “I have two readings and teas today, so I don’t have much time. Plus I left the baking under Merlin’s supervision, and you know what that means.”
I gave her the basics with a promise to fill in the details later. She was heading back to rescue her pastries, when she stopped and turned to me. “I’ve been meaning to ask—did you ever find out if Axel’s father had an alibi for the time of his son’s death?”
“Not yet. I’m open to ideas about how to get that information, if you have any?”
“I don’t suppose asking Duggan outright would work?”
“That’s about as likely as Merlin refusing pizza,” I said dryly.
“What if Officer Curtis happens to win a free reading in a little raffle I hold?” She was beaming as if the idea had indeed been a light bulb moment. “While I’m groping around in his mind, I can look for the answer to your question.”
My initial reaction was a big old no way, but that didn’t deter my aunt.
“As I see it,” she said, “the information we’re seeking is for a good cause. It can eliminate a suspect or be the first step in bringing one to justice.”
“It would still be an ethical non-starter,” I said. The thought of Tilly traipsing through Curtis’s head was unsettling and a little nauseating. Of course, the nausea might have been a result of the ice cream I’d binged on late last night.
“It’s only unethical if the information obtained that way is used for evil purposes.” Tilly was digging in her heels. “Should I turn up information unrelated to the matter at hand, I will take it to my grave.” I didn’t doubt her intentions, although there had been times in the past when her definition of ethical was somewhat broader than mine.
“I need to think about it,” I said finally. “You should go rescue your pastries before Merlin devours them all.” My reminder sent her scuttling back to her shop. If I couldn’t think of another way to find out about Austin Stubbs, I might have to take her up on the idea.
Travis called when I was helping a local resident with a spell to make her garden thrive in the coming spring. I told him I’d call back. “I know I’m a wee bit early to be doing this,” Elizabeth said, “but I want to get all my ducks in a row.” An image instantly sprang to mind of a disorderly row of Merlin-ducks all sporting the wizard’s beard. I had all I could do not to laugh out loud.
I’d known Elizabeth since grade school. She was always determined to stay ahead of things. She stocks up on pet-friendly ice melt in July and starts her Christmas shopping immediately after July Fourth. She drove more than one teacher crazy with her requests to be given all the homework assignments for the semester on the first day of school. Her husband likes to tell the story about how she once set the table for lunch, only to start putting everything away again before they’d eaten. But as Tilly says, “she’s good people.”
“I have just the spell for you,” I said, noting that she already had a pad and pencil in her hands. “You’ll need four stones: garnet to symbolize fire, amethyst for air, jade for water, and jet for earth.” I waited for her to finish writing. “You’ll also need a compass and a green candle.” Although there were alternative stones one could use as well as a brown candle, I didn’t mention these possible substitutes. I knew from experience that when Elizabeth is presented with choices, she sometimes becomes stuck trying to pick the best one. She doesn’t accept the idea that two things can be equally good.
“Using the compass, stake out the cardinal points of your garden and bury each stone as follows: garnet to the south, amethyst to the east, jade to the west, and jet to the north. As you bury each stone, repeat four times, “By the four powers, my garden flowers.” Then set the candle in the center of the garden area and light it. Say the words four more times and visualize a healthy white circle glowing around your garden, nurturing it, protecting it. Let the candle burn for a few minutes before blowing it out.” Uh-oh. I realized my error as soon as the words left my mouth.
“How many minutes?” she asked, pencil poised above the pad.
“My mistake,” I said quickly. “Three minutes, exactly three minutes.”
“That’s not so hard,” Elizabeth said brightly. “That’s really all it takes?”
“That and properly tending the flowers throughout the growing season.” She left as happy as I’d ever seen her—another item checked off her to-do list for next May. After she left, I turned the OPEN sign to CLOSED and called Travis back.
“What did you find out?” I asked when he picked up.
“Hello to you too,” he said. “Okay, getting straight to the point—I found two people who lost their lives because Axel Stubbs and Chris Dowland were back on the streets after serving minimal sentences. Of course, that’s to date. Who knows what would have happened in the future? The killer must have been thinking along those same lines when he or she decided to eliminate them before they could do any more damage.”
“Yeah, except that’s not how innocent until proven guilty works in this country.”
Chapter 29
According to Travis’s notes, Tanya Royce died of the injuries she sustained when Chris Dowland crossed the center line while sending a text and hit her car head-on. It was his second arrest for distracted driving. The first was a year earlier when he’d tangled with a utility pole, knocking out power to hundreds of people. Sam Crawford had gotten him off with a fine and a year of community service. He was still performing that community service when his car slammed head-on into Tanya Royce’s. He was sent away for three years. He was released in January of 2015 and murdered two weeks later, supposedly the victim of a botched burglary. The big question for Travis and me—was that really how he met his end or had someone killed him for taking Tanya’s life?
I needed a different cover story with which to approach Tanya’s husband, Everett Royce. I couldn’t very well use the story that I was looking into the death of his loved one in hopes of learning the truth about how she died and who killed her. The who and how of the case were already public knowledge. So I came up with a new story that suited the circumstances of his tragic loss.
After giving Sashkatu and his subjects their dinner and bolting a Spanish omelet for mine, I called Everett Royce. I said I was with a political action group, working to get stiffer penalties in cases of distracted and impaired driving. I didn’t say it outright, but the implication was clear—had stiffer sentences been in place, Tanya might still be alive. Royce said he supported our agenda and hoped we were successful, but he wasn’t willing to sit for an interview on the subject. Tanya’s death, coming mere weeks after their wedding, had devastated him. It wasn’t until a few years later that he finally picked up the pieces of his life and started moving forward again. He’d recently become engaged to a wonderful woman. He didn’t want to tear open the wound that had taken so long to heal.
I should have kept pushing him, trying to unearth the anger that could have made him kill Dowland, but I just couldn’t. What were the odds that he’d killed Dowland anyway? Or worse—that he’d not only killed Dowl
and, but made it his mission to eliminate others he deemed a threat to society? Mild-mannered man to super-avenger in one giant leap? On the other hand, how could I dismiss a suspect who might be playing me?
I made a shaky peace with my conscience and asked Royce if he’d be willing to chat with me for another minute or two, nothing formal. He hesitated before grudgingly agreeing. Would a guilty man have agreed? What say you Nancy Drew? My muse was as silent as ever.
If the next couple minutes were all the time I’d have with him, I had to be forthright in my approach. I normally relied a lot on a person’s expressions and body language to gauge the honesty of their words. There was no point in trying the spell I’d used on Epps, because it only worked when I was in close proximity to the subject. All I had left in my arsenal were blunt questions and a pushy attitude. They might elicit emotional reactions that would be easier to discern in his voice. Given the limits of the situation, it was my best shot.
“What fires me up every morning when I open my eyes,” I said, “is the simple fact that people like Dowland are a menace and should be behind bars for a good long time, not behind the wheel where they can take another innocent life. I’m sure you agree with that.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Royce’s tone was guarded.
I lowered my voice as if I were entrusting him with a secret. “Between you and me, I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you were the one who took him out. I’d applaud you.”
“Wait—what are you saying?” I heard the spike of anxiety in his words. I’d clearly taken him by surprise.
“I’m saying that Tanya would still be alive if Dowland had given a damn about anyone but himself. Why should that piece of trash get to live his life when she can’t? What kind of justice is that?”
“Justice?” Everett gave a contemptuous grunt. I was getting to him. Stop hiding, Everett Royce. Show me your true colors. “But that’s an old story. You and your group are not the first ones to try to reform the system. I admire your resolve, but if I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for things to change.” He was pulling back.
“It’s going to take a groundswell to bring about change,” I said. “And it won’t happen at all, unless people like you stand up and advocate for victims like Tanya.” Everett was silent long enough for me to wonder if he’d hung up. Truth be told, I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had. I didn’t enjoy the role I was playing. “Everett? Are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Look—I can’t argue with what you’re saying, but it’s not like Dowland is out there partying and living large. He’s as dead as he’s ever going to be. One thing my shrink taught me was that I had to let go of the anger if I wanted to heal. I need to concentrate on me now and on the new life I’m building. Miss Wilde, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to bash Dowland’s head in a few years back—I was that angry with the system and with bottom feeders like Sam Crawford. But I didn’t do it. I went and got help instead. It was real hard for a long time, but I’m finally in a good place. I’m happy again. There was a time when I didn’t think that could ever happen. I can’t afford to get involved with your group. I wish you the best of luck though.”
I sat there staring at the blank screen on my phone as if it were a crystal ball that could answer the questions buzzing around in my brain. I wanted to believe that Royce was innocent of any wrongdoing and that he would get his happily-ever-after with his new love. But what if he’d gone to the shrink not only to sort out his grief, but also to work through the guilt of having become an executioner?
I headed to the kitchen. I needed a break before I tackled the Caputo case. I grabbed the chocolate peanut butter ice cream from the freezer and filled a dish with two hefty scoops. A mouthful of ice cream bliss goes a long way to soothing the soul—my soul anyway. By the time the dish was empty, I was as ready as I’d ever be. Angelo Caputo was a twenty-four-year-old man who overdosed on tainted cocaine. I reworded my pitch to fit the situation and gave myself a pep talk. All the lying was in the service of finding Ryan’s killer and shutting down whoever was hijacking the justice system. I tapped in the number for the senior Caputo’s home and talked with his mother. I told her I was working with a group of activists to make the streets of Schuyler County drug-free.
That’s nice,” she said, “where were you when that little Stubbs weasel was hanging out with my Angelo and getting him hooked?” Her tone was surprisingly neutral, her words without inflection as if she’d been drained of all emotion, an empty shell that walked and talked, but was only going through the motions of a living being. Had the loss of her son stripped her of feeling or had his descent into addiction hollowed her out long before his death? Talking to her unnerved me. I asked if her husband was home.
Michael Caputo was booming. Booming I could work with. I introduced myself and told him why I was calling. “The citizens of this county need to come together and build a grassroots advocacy to drive drugs out of our towns.” I sounded like I knew what I was talking about, but if he’d asked me about the finer points of the plan, I would have been left standing there with my mouth hanging open. Luckily, Caputo didn’t seem interested in the details.
“Damn straight we do,” he thundered. “You just holler if you need some muscle.”
“I appreciate the offer,” I said. “Forgive my curiosity, sir, but do you share your wife’s belief that Stubbs was to blame for Angelo’s death?”
“In multiple ways. He got my boy hooked to begin with. We fought like hell to get him into a good rehab facility not once, but twice and both times he came out of there clean. But as soon as he got home, Stubbs slithered back into his life. So we arranged to send Angelo to a rehab in California. My sister-in-law lives out there and she agreed to let him stay with her when he came out. It was a good plan and I believe it would have worked, but Stubbs and the drugs got to him first.”
“You must have wanted to go after Stubbs, put an end to him,” I said, hoping to fire up Caputo to the point where he would slip and reveal how he’d done just that.
“You got that right. Trouble is, I’d have to pay the price for it and I don’t think I could hack it in prison. I was one happy man when I heard somebody else took him down. Far as I know, there’s no law against being glad he’s dead.” I thanked Caputo for his time and he reiterated his offer of muscle, though I no longer knew what that meant.
It was ten o’clock when I called Travis. He was half asleep in his Albany hotel room watching an old movie on TV. He came fully awake when he heard my voice. “Hey¸ how’d it go?”
“Well, I won’t be meeting with either of the families. Royce flat-out refused and Caputo’s all bark and no bite.”
“We’re erasing them from our suspect list?”
“I’m not ready to let Royce go yet,” I said. “He strikes me as the type who could go off the deep end under the right conditions. I also want to see if I can get the phone number for Tanya’s parents. Losing a child often trumps losing a wife.”
“I can save you the trouble. They died in a small plane crash a couple years back.”
“What about siblings?”
“She didn’t have any.” I was out of options. “Maybe Everett Royce did bash in Dowland’s head and discovered the role of avenging angel suited him.”
“Ryan would have figured it out by now,” Travis said. I could picture him wagging his head, the loss of his foster brother still painfully close to the surface. It was hard to comfort him over the phone.
“It may take us a little longer,” I said, “but I’m absolutely certain we’re going to nail his killer.”
“I know, but sometimes it feels like we’re spinning our wheels, getting nowhere fast. For what it’s worth, I’m going up to Burdett tomorrow to try my luck with Austin Stubbs.”
Chapter 30
A bad cold snap had swooped down from Canada overnight, and a tour bus was scheduled, both of which made me
happy to be spending the day in my snug little shop. The moment I stepped outside, the frigid air smacked me in the face with a wicked left hook. Sashkatu’s furry face suddenly seemed more practical than bare skin. I could swear I caught him gloating about it a moment before a powerful gust knocked the look off his face. Together we sprinted from the house to Abracadabra’s back door. I hadn’t seen the old boy move that fast in quite some time. It cost him though. He was spent for the rest of the day and needed my help to reach his private solarium. At least there was plenty of sun to warm the chill out of his joints.
Next door I could hear my aunt Tilly baking away for the day’s appointments. Merlin came in by the connecting door, looking frazzled. “Your aunt is beside herself and that is too much Matilda even for me,” he said. “Mayhap you can calm her. I would be ever so grateful.”
“What’s wrong?”
“She’s in a dither about the cold. She thinks folks will cancel and stay home, so she can’t decide how much to bake.”
I breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn’t a more serious issue. “Tell her most people won’t cancel last minute because the bus company won’t refund their money. Besides, the tours leading up to the holidays are always packed. She just needs to be reminded how great business is in New Camel this time of year.”
“New Camelot,” he said sourly. “If it’s going to be our secret, we can at least use the correct name among ourselves!”
“You’re right,” I said, because I didn’t have time for a debate. “I apologize. Now please go tell Tilly I’m sure the bus will be full.” Apparently satisfied with my level of contrition, Merlin left to convey my message. Sashki hadn’t moved a muscle during the wizard’s visit. He was one tired feline if Mr. Catnip had no effect on him.
The bus pulled in right on time. Passengers hit the street at the stroke of ten. They were mostly women over the age of fifty, bundled in winter gear. Since Tilly, Lolly, and I were located at the far end of town it would probably be a little while before they reached us. I didn’t want to stand at the door looking desperate or overly eager, so I sat down at the computer to check my email.