Murder Casts Its Spell

by Margaret C. Morse

  I turned on the TV by the kitchen table to be ready for the evening news. The paper's online coverage of the WAI/SOS confrontation had been sparse. So far, all I knew was that someone had thrown a rock at an SOS demonstrator, who was in the hospital. In the last year, four other cities had seen violence between SOS and WAI, but not Phoenix. I'd asked WAI to show support, not throw missiles.

  As I darted about the kitchen, I kept an eye on the TV for the news to start. For the meal, I spruced up a jar of pasta sauce with hot Italian sausage and cooked some fresh linguine. I drained the pasta with a copper colander I'd bought from a witch. She was one of the few magic people who bucked the trend and used the politically incorrect title of "witch," instead of the supposedly sexually neutral word "wizard." She'd put a spell on the colander so that it gleamed brighter if the pasta was cooked al dente. I always suspected the spell made the copper shine no matter how the pasta was cooked. Today, though, when it shimmered briefly as I drained the linguine, I felt my own inner glow. This dinner, one thing I could control, was going to be all right. While I sprinkled the linguine with olive oil, I heard the doorbell ring.

  Rusty bounded in and gave me a quick hug. About five feet four inches, she had a chunky build, not fat but solid muscle. Brown hair spiked around her face then fell straight to her shoulders. Three diamonds lined up on one ear lobe, two garnets on the other. She'd lasted two years as a cop and four as a juvenile probation officer. After working as a security guard at Blister's, a gay nightclub, she settled down to run Chris's office.

  She inhaled. "Smells great."

  "This morning, I realized I hadn't cooked anything for months."

  I wondered if Rusty guessed I hadn't cooked because it's not inspiring to create menus for oneself. When Eduardo and I were together, we prepared meals as a team and entertained friends at dinner parties. I did appetizers and desserts, and he did entrees. After he left, I imagined him next to me, a ghost conjured to keep me company. We had pretend conversations until I finally realized his image had to vanish. I thought we had a life together. It was stupid to let a man be my center point.

  I shook a container with olive oil, white wine vinegar, mustard, and oregano then opened a bag of store-bought salad greens. "I decided I might forget how to cook if I waited till I started dating again."

  "Julie and I eat out way too much." Her lips turned up but her brow furrowed as she pulled from her purse two sheets of paper covered with single-spaced typing. "Chris has some ideas about questions to ask the witness tonight."

  I scanned the fifty questions. "Tell Chris I incorporated his suggestions into my list." I folded the sheets in half.

  Rusty dropped the helpful ideas in the trash. "I could've told him you don't like to be micromanaged."

  I used the remote to turn up the volume on the TV since the news had started. "I thought we'd check out the coverage of the WAI demonstrators—I want to see if they mention Keegan and how the trouble started."

  While I dished up the pasta and meat sauce, Channel Twelve reported about a judge who died when his Harley took a curve too fast and too wide. The image of emergency trucks on a mountain road flashed on the screen.

  As I swallowed the first spicy bite, the male anchor, all gleaming black hair and white teeth, intoned, "A demonstration at the state capitol turned violent today when an SOS protestor was struck by a rock." On the screen, paramedics pushed a stretcher with a figure whose head was covered in bandages. "SOS claims the rock came from a group of Wizards Against Injustice demonstrators. Our Jaeden Jacobs is on the scene, talking with an SOS representative. Jaeden, what does SOS have to say about the rock throwing?"

  A young man with brown hair slicked back squinted in the lowering sun. "I have with me SOS coordinator Patrick Kelsey." He pushed the microphone at a bald-headed guy whose belly stretched out the red letters on his T-shirt, SOS Stops Satan. "Mr. Kelsey, did you see a WAI protestor throw a rock?"

  Kelsey yelled into the microphone. "SOS is here to get the legislature to pass tough laws against dangerous wizards. We want Keegan Flynn punished for his crime. We—"

  Jacobs withdrew the microphone. "WAI claims no one from their group threw the rock."

  Kelsey pointed behind Jacobs and leaned toward the microphone. "Look at them. Can you believe what they say?"

  The group around Kelsey waved their placards in the air. "Save our souls! Save our souls!"

  The camera panned away from Kelsey and his pals to another group, each member dressed in dark clothes, their faces covered with black masks. They stabbed their signs upwards, only WAI being legible. When Jacobs approached and extended the microphone, they turned their backs.

  Jacobs looked into the camera. "Looks like the WAI demonstrators won't talk to us. I'm on my way to the hospital to see if they've released any information about the victim."

  I gaped at the TV, my fork impaled in the lettuce, shocked at the threatening appearance of the WAI demonstrators. "I've had enough."

  Rusty snapped her fingers. The TV faded out. She was cautious about doing magic in public but knew I didn't mind if she used her powers.

  I twirled linguine coated with red sauce around my fork, worried how WAI's menacing look, especially the masks, could harm Keegan's case by associating him with their dark public image. Although I didn't want to eat, I shoved in a forkful. I couldn't let my personal feelings make me a starved waif. "I didn't know WAI was going for an intimidating public image, what with the black clothes and masks. How long has that been going on?"

  "First time I've seen it. I've heard rumors changes were coming because hotheads have taken over the WAI branch in Phoenix. They say if people are going to be scared of wizards, give them something to be afraid of."

  "I don't follow that logic." I sipped iced tea which I'd made sweet, the Southern way. "So Keegan's case didn't cause this change to the dark side?"

  She sprinkled red pepper flakes on the sauce. "No, it's been coming down the road a while."

  I'd started the day with a simple request for support for my client to the local branch of a national organization. It had turned into a coming out party for WAI's new dark look. Somebody had hit a protestor with a rock. I hadn't wanted anyone to get hurt.

  Next on the agenda was a witness who wanted to meet us at St. Ignatius, a Catholic church, one of the first big religious groups to condemn wizards. Pushing away my plate, I braced myself for a witness who would think my client belonged to the dark side.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TUESDAY EVENING

  The falling sun reddened the adobe of St. Ignatius Loyola Catholic Church, which spread along Central Avenue for the length of a football field. My eye traveled upward over its square bell towers and crowning dome.

  In the foyer, Rusty and I blinked to accustom ourselves to the gloom. On our right, a poster announced SOS Meeting / Thursday 7 PM / St. Stephens Parish Hall. I wondered how long SOS would wait before a retaliatory attack on WAI.

  Rusty paused before opening the doors leading to the church interior. "Mark Turner is our witness's name. He said he'd meet us by Our Lady of Guadalupe's statue."

  I'd attended two weddings and a funeral at St. Ignatius, so I was prepared for the rococo splendor of the interior. Even in the dim light, I caught a gleam from the marble pillars along the walls and the stars embedded in the dome.

  We stopped at an alcove halfway down the left side aisle. Our Lady of Guadalupe wore a cape of blue satin—real fabric dotted with gold stars. She gazed down and off to the side, not connecting with the viewer. In front of her a wrought iron table held dozens of candles in red cups. A kneeler provided space for supplicants.

  I sat on a wooden pew. Rusty went down on the kneeler and folded her hands together. The setting sun sent rays through red and blue stained glass. To pass the time till our witness showed, I read a brochure about the mysteries of the rosary. The first one described the Annunciation. Imagine you are Mary, a young Jewish woman betrothed to a carpenter named Joseph. An angel appears an
d announces that you will bear the son of God. That would be startling. I was curious how Rusty felt to be in a Catholic church. She had been ousted seven years ago when the Pope decided people with magic powers couldn't be Catholics.

  I'd attended a Methodist church with my parents until I left home. Although I no longer participated, I admired the earnest sense of social responsibility of that congregation. Inside this Catholic church, I didn't understand all its teachings yet still wanted to stare at Our Lady of Guadalupe, wondering what she saw.

  A woman in scrubs decorated with Bugs Bunny approached the alcove. She stood before the statue and lit a match. Her hand passed over the burning candles. Finding none unlit, she exhaled a big breath, extinguishing a row of candles, then ignited one.

  This woman had casually dashed the hopes of those who had lit the candles. Outraged, I started up, but a man slid into the pew in front of us. Flat blond hair and a lily-white face gave him a sickly look.

  "Are you Rusty Brock?" He had a scratchy voice.

  Rusty jumped off the kneeler and pumped his hand. "You're Mark Turner? This is Keegan Flynn's lawyer, Petra Rakowitz."

  As we shook, Mark looked at the back of the church. "Sorry I'm late. I thought someone was following me, a guy in a white car, so I kept driving around the block."

  I glanced around when a door banged. "Mr. Turner, who would be following you?"

  He sank onto the pew and sat hunched forward. "It could be the man I saw with Felicia the night before she was killed."

  A woman wearing a black dress that draped to her ankles walked up the aisle and kneeled before Our Lady. A lace mantilla covered her hair and trailed down to her shoulders. She lowered her head.

  I whispered, "Is there someplace quiet where we can talk?"

  Mark looked to the rear of the church. "No one will be using the choir loft tonight. We'll be safe there."

  Rusty and I followed Mark, who genuflected in the middle aisle to the altar. Rusty made the sign of the cross. Mark opened a door in the foyer, flicked on a light switch, and went up the wooden stairs. For a Phoenix resident, he'd dressed quite formally for our meeting in a pink button-down shirt and tan slacks. Brown loafers with thick soles made no noise on the steps. By the time we'd reached the top, I already knew how Rusty and I would play this interview. Low key and ladylike. She'd pick up my cues.

  In the choir loft, rows of folding chairs faced a metal stand for music. At this height, we were level with the stained glass behind the altar. Christ beckoned with an upraised hand.

  Mark sat in the front row, hands on his thighs. "We hardly use the loft anymore. The choir sings down there close to the altar."

  His voice faded at the end of sentences. Rusty pulled out two chairs for us and placed them in front of Mark.

  I nodded at Rusty, who had her notebook out. In spite of her spiky hair, multiple earring studs, and cowboy boots, she pulled herself in and looked demure. I leaned forward in the chair. "Okay, Mr. Turner, we should be all private here. Tell us about the man you saw with Felicia the night before she was killed."

  Mark widened eyes so dark they seemed black. "Sunday night, my mother and I were out till around nine thirty with our bowling team. When I got back, I had a message from Felicia on my cell phone. Listen."

  He held his phone up, and a soft woman's voice spoke in a rush. "Mark, I've got so much to tell you. Call me."

  "I tried to call but just got her voice mail." He held the phone in both hands. "It's the only recording I have of Felicia."

  I bet he'd never delete the message. "What does the message have to do with Felicia's male visitor?"

  "I waited about forty minutes until my mother was asleep. I went into the living room and cracked open the curtain. Only Felicia's upstairs light was on. I got her voice mail again."

  Seeing he was determined to tell the story his way, I settled for a nudge, not a pushy question. "Did you stay by the window?"

  Mark pulled a black-beaded rosary from his pants pocket and held it in his lap. "I started saying the prayers of the rosary. It helps to calm me. About halfway through, I saw him at the door."

  "Who?"

  "Her new boyfriend. The one she took up with after Keegan."

  Rusty and I exchanged glances. I knew what we were both thinking: Good, a potential suspect. No one as likely to kill you as your current lover.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TUESDAY EVENING

  I'd been pessimistic about this interview, thinking Mark would only have negative things to say about Keegan, and here he was giving me someone I could blame for the crime. "What's his name?"

  "She never told me. It was a big secret. He won't leave his wife."

  A dreary image of Mark peeking out his window to live off Felicia's romantic life flashed in my mind. "What exactly did you see?"

  "He knocked and just stood there shuffling his feet. I thought he was going to give up when all at once Felicia threw open the door and embraced him. Everything looked okay, so I went to bed."

  "What time was it?"

  "About midnight."

  Along with Ira, this marked Felicia's second gentleman caller Sunday night. "Are you sure you recognized him?"

  "I've seen him visit her plenty of times. Felicia has a bright entry light."

  I made a mental note to have Rusty check out the area. "How would you describe this man?"

  "Big, broad shoulders, powerful looking. Taller than Felicia. He always wore a dark baseball cap."

  "When did Felicia start dating him?"

  Mark pulled out a calendar and pondered the red-ink writing. "I can't find the note. It was several months ago. This new man was different. Felicia was crazy about him. She was hot and cold with Keegan."

  The vent above me rumbled, sending out a blast of cold air. "So you don't know his name?"

  "I called him the Mystery Man. He was very controlling. She could never phone him except on a throw-away cell he had. He usually came by late in the evening. He drove a white car." He drew his feet under the chair. "I never wrote down the license plate."

  "You kept a pretty close eye on him?"

  "I followed him twice after he left her. He parked in the neighborhood, not in our visitor lot. He left his car on different streets each time I went after him. I was afraid to get close enough to read the plate."

  I leaned back and considered a follow-up question that wouldn't imply he was a creepy stalker. "It must have been hard to stay awake waiting for him to leave?"

  "I worried about Felicia. A young woman living alone. I don't sleep much nights anyway." Mark started when a door slammed, a muffled sound.

  I moved to the front of the balcony. "It's probably just someone coming into the church."

  Rusty stationed herself by the door to the stairs as I leaned over the railing. No one appeared in the aisle below me. The chandelier over the altar flickered and lit up brilliantly. Throughout the church, ceiling spots brightened. The stars on Our Lady's robe sparkled. No one kneeled before her. The fluorescent fixtures in the choir loft went off, making us shadowy forms.

  "I got it," Rusty called out, and her click of a switch returned light to us. "I'll look below." Rusty's boots tapped down stairs.

  I resumed my seat. "Somebody fooling with the light switches. Didn't know we were here."

  Rusty rejoined us. "Nobody around. Mr. Turner, if it will make you feel better, I'll give you some tips on what to do if someone is following you."

  "I'm not usually this jumpy." Mark's voice had grown thinner.

  "I understand." I nodded at him. "Felicia's death was unsettling. Just a few background questions. How would you describe your relationship with Felicia?"

  "I was her best friend. The only man who didn't want anything from her." He fingered the rosary. "Whenever my mother was gone, I'd crack open the curtains. That let Felicia know she could come over. She liked to talk to me about her men friends. I liked to listen." Red splotches appeared on his cheeks like badly applied rouge.

  "Take
your time."

  Mark raised his shoulders and let out a deep sigh. "Sorry."

  "Did you ever have any problems with Felicia?"

  "After she came home from the hospital with the baby, that's when I first found out that Keegan was a wizard. I didn't speak to her for days. She deceived me by keeping that a secret." He focused on the space between Rusty and me. "Before I reconciled with Felicia, I had to make sense of what happened." He pushed his chair back, and his voice grew stronger. "He put a spell on her. That's how Keegan got Felicia to fall in love. You mark my words."

  "Did you tell Felicia your theory?"

  "At first, Felicia was in denial." Mark smiled and shook his head. "She didn't like the idea that Keegan had manipulated her."

  I waited until Mark stopped sliding his eyes around and focused in my general direction. "How did you get Felicia to accept the idea that Keegan put a spell on her?"

  "She talked herself into it. To her, it explained why she fell so fast for him and how he talked her into signing the custody agreement."

  So we had Mark Turner to thank for putting in Felicia's head the idea that Keegan used a spell to get her to sign. I crossed my legs to use up some irritable energy. "Do you know what made Felicia decide to file criminal charges against Keegan?"

  He hooded his black eyes with pale lids. "That came from the lawyer she saw to get the custody agreement changed. He told her she should press charges to make a good record."

  The lawyer couldn't have started any proceedings because I was sure Keegan would've told me. "Do you know the lawyer's name?"

  "No, her father arranged it. When Felicia couldn't afford to hire an attorney on her own, her father agreed to help by paying the lawyer's fee. Her father demanded that she had to have the child exorcised. Her parents are very anti-wizard." Mark slipped the rosary back in his pocket. "It's getting late."

  Pressing my fingertips against my lips, I tried to quash the emotions rising up. Exorcism was a dangerous, traumatic procedure, something for only the most desperate cases. If the exorcism went wrong, the withdrawal of magic powers could cause mental and physical disability. It was a risky procedure for a kid. If Keegan knew about the exorcism, it was a strong motive for him to kill his ex. "Felicia agreed to have her child exorcised as a way to pay her lawyer?"