Wicked Witch Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “I don’t know that I can promise that,” said Lucy. “What if there’s a new development in Malcolm’s death?”

  “Has there been a new development?” he demanded.

  “No, not that I know of,” admitted Lucy. “But say they find his killer—wouldn’t you want to make a comment? He was your friend and partner for quite a few years, wasn’t he?” She paused for breath. “But that’s not why I called,” she began, attempting to turn the conversation back to her original purpose, which was asking him to make balloon animals at the party.

  “I’m not talking to you anymore,” said Symonds, ending the call.

  Stunned, Lucy sat at her desk for a minute or two before she replaced the receiver on the phone. One thing was clear—Symonds was not in a party mood. “That was weird,” she finally said.

  “What was?” asked Phyllis, crossing the office with a stack of news releases for Lucy.

  Lucy shrugged. “Oh, nothing, I guess. Just a disgruntled reader.”

  “Well don’t tell Ted about it, okay?” said Phyllis, setting the stack down on Lucy’s desk. “These ought to keep you busy for a while.”

  “So it would seem,” agreed Lucy, but as she typed in the calendar listings for ham-and-bean suppers and yoga classes and nature talks at the bird sanctuary, her mind kept returning to Symonds. What had gotten into him, she wondered, to change his attitude? Had the cops been questioning him? She assumed they’d paid him a visit when Malcolm’s body was discovered, but had they made a repeat visit?

  When she left work, Lucy headed over to Diana’s place to check that everything was okay. The girls had taken the cat to Friends of Animals, finding it easier to care for him there. Piewocket was a big hit with the day campers and seemed to be having the time of his life. Lucy had gotten into the habit of stopping at Diana’s every couple of days, making sure the apartment and store were secure and watering the house plants, which had been moved outside onto a shady deck. She didn’t have time to tend the vegetable garden, but she had installed a drip hose and picked the tomatoes and squash as they ripened.

  As she approached, she braced herself for an unpleasant discovery—at the very least, she expected the pentagram would have reappeared on Diana’s door. But there was nothing to mar the fresh coat of paint Diana had put on before she left for Arizona, and the doors and windows were all locked tight.

  Lucy climbed the outside stairs that led to the deck and gently hosed down the plants, which were thriving in the fresh air and sunshine. A Christmas cactus would definitely need repotting soon, she decided, and that pothos would have to be cut back before it could return inside. Another tall plant had tipped over, becoming so top heavy that its root system couldn’t support it. As she straightened it up, Lucy recognized it as a belladonna plant, similar to the one Rebecca had, and decided to take it home and give it a bigger pot.

  “Belladonna, beautiful lady, you must have some fine new clothes,” said Lucy. She was putting the plant in the back of her station wagon when a Popsicle stick identifying the plant fell out. She happened to glance at it as she replaced it in the pot and noticed it read DEADLY NIGHTSHADE, not belladonna. She immediately pulled out her cell phone, intending to call Rebecca Wardwell, then remembered with annoyance that the witch didn’t have a telephone. She would have to drive over there on the way home.

  Rebecca was just wrapping up a sale when Lucy arrived, and she waited until the transaction was completed and the customer had left before she asked Rebecca if deadly nightshade and belladonna were the same plant.

  “Yes, they are,” said Rebecca.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” demanded Lucy. “Deadly nightshade is poisonous!”

  Rebecca shrugged. “I thought you knew. Besides, lots of plants are poisonous. Take philodendron for example, or mistletoe. And there’s plenty worse than those. Like monkshood.”

  Lucy was looking at Rebecca with new eyes. Instead of the sweet eccentric who dressed in quaint clothes, she was seeing a woman who stubbornly marched to her own drummer and had little thought for others.

  “You should have told me when I admired the plant,” said Lucy.

  “Despite its name, it’s very rarely deadly,” said Rebecca, folding her hands in front of herself.

  But Lucy wasn’t listening. She was already heading back to her car, planning to toss the plant on the compost heap as soon as she got home. But first she had to pick up the girls at Friends of Animals.

  “Don’t touch that plant!” she warned Zoe when she opened the rear door.

  “Why not?” asked Zoe as she slid onto the seat and fastened her seat belt.

  “It’s poisonous! I didn’t know and I was going to repot it for Diana.”

  “What are you going to do with it now?” asked Sara, who was riding shotgun.

  “I’m going to throw it out,” declared Lucy.

  Zoe furrowed her brows, studying the plant on the seat beside her. “Mom, it’s a plant. It can’t jump up and strangle you or anything.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” said Sara. “Don’t you think you’re being kind of mean? It is a living thing, after all, part of the circle of life.”

  “Circle of death is more like it,” muttered Lucy. “It’s called deadly nightshade.”

  “Are you sure, Mom?” asked Sara.

  “Yes, I’m sure. I even asked Rebecca Wardwell. And why are you questioning me?”

  “Oh, no reason,” said Sara, who was busy texting on her cell phone. “Oh, phooey,” she declared, snapping the phone shut.

  “Bad news?” asked Lucy.

  “Yeah. Renee and Sassie and I were going to go over to Abby’s tonight to try and cheer her up. She’s been awfully depressed since her mother died, and they don’t have TV, and she isn’t allowed to have a cell phone, even. But we figured we could at least visit at her place, so her father could keep an eye on us and see that we’re really good kids.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Lucy, amazed at how kind and thoughtful kids could be. At the same time, she was uneasy about letting the girls spend time at the Stoughton house.

  “Yeah, well, she’s sick and we can’t go over.”

  “That’s too bad. What’s she got? A summer cold?”

  “I don’t know. Sassie didn’t say. She just got a call from Abby’s father calling it off.”

  “I bet she’s not even sick,” said Zoe, piping up in the backseat.

  “Yeah,” agreed Sara as Lucy turned into the driveway. “Her father probably figured we’d corrupt her or something.”

  But as the last days of summer passed and the first day of school drew closer, Abby didn’t get better, and when school finally reopened, Abby was absent. For the first few weeks, Sara kept her up to date on homework and reading assignments, but the school eventually appointed Lydia Volpe, a retired teacher, to tutor her at home.

  One day in late September, Lucy ran into Lydia in the supermarket and asked how Abby was doing.

  Lydia pursed her lips and shook her head, her dark brown eyes enormous. “She’s not improving,” she whispered.

  “What does the doctor say?”

  “The father doesn’t believe in medicine, you know. The superintendent is threatening to contact social services, to make him take her to the doctor.” She shrugged. “I’ve never been in a situation like this before. Usually the family is happy to have me, but not these people. They treat me like I’m carrying typhoid or something.”

  “They lost the mother, you know,” said Lucy, looking for an explanation.

  “They’re going to lose this girl, too, if somebody doesn’t intervene,” said Lydia. “She’s not eating, only drinks this herbal tea.” She clucked her tongue. “It’s terrible. She’s wasting away.” Lydia leaned forward, whispering in Lucy’s ear, “I think she has anorexia.”

  “That’s awful,” said Lucy, truly shocked. “I had no idea.”

  “God forgive me,” said Lydia, casting her enormous eyes heavenward. “I hate to go there. I dread seeing he
r all skin and bones like this. I have to make myself go. I tell myself that I’m her only hope.” She shook her head. “I hope the authorities intervene soon.”

  “Me too,” said Lucy, deeply troubled. As she finished her shopping and loaded the car, she wondered about Ike and how her opinion of him had changed. When he had first walked into the Pennysaver office that day in June, she took him for a regular guy and welcomed him as a neighbor. Then, when she saw him and his family at the cookout, she began to suspect he was a domestic tyrant and that image grew stronger when she learned how Abby and Miriam feared him. She’d discovered his religious bent when the bridge was carried away by the flood and when he began the campaign against witchcraft. More recently, however, she’d begun to feel sorry for him, seeing how he grieved for his wife and began neglecting his property and his appearance. But now that Abby was seriously ill, and he was still refusing to seek medical help for her, she was beginning to suspect that Ike was mentally ill. Taken together, the summer’s events seemed to point to a deepening disconnect with reality. She had to agree with Lydia that the sooner the school authorities intervened, the better.

  That night, she called Diana at her mother’s home in Arizona.

  “I was just going to call you!” exclaimed Diana. “I’m coming back. I can’t miss Samhain with the coven.”

  “Samhain?”

  “It’s our new year, but you know it as Halloween.”

  “Oh,” said Lucy. “I suppose you’ll all be riding around on broomsticks.”

  “Not quite.” Diana laughed. “But it is the most important holiday in the Wiccan calendar, and Lady Sybil has called me to help the coven prepare for it. I also promised to help Pam with the kids’ party.”

  “I thought you’d forgotten,” said Lucy.

  “Nope. I’m on it. I’ve got all sorts of ideas for games and decorations.”

  “That’s terrific,” said Lucy. “I’m glad you’re coming home. I don’t know if you’re aware that Abby Stoughton is seriously ill….”

  “No! How long has this been going on?”

  “Since before school began. Lydia Volpe’s been tutoring her, and she says the situation is very bad, even life-threatening—Abby refuses to eat. They’re probably going to take the father to court.”

  “This is awful!”

  “I know. I was hoping you could do something. I know you’re very fond of Abby.”

  “I am! We correspond, you know, through Lydia. She hides the letters in Abby’s schoolwork.”

  “But you didn’t know she was sick?”

  “Not a word. She never mentioned it.”

  “What did she write about?” asked Lucy.

  “How much she missed the coven, advice on being a solitaire, how much she hates her brothers, things like that.”

  “Wow,” said Lucy, amazed by Abby’s behavior. “So when are you coming home?”

  “As soon as I can get a flight,” promised Diana. “And believe me, nothing is going to keep me from seeing that girl, even if I have to use my six-guns and go in with both barrels blazing!”

  As she ended the call, Lucy hoped she’d done the right thing by calling Diana, but she wasn’t convinced. Hadn’t her mother always said the path to hell was paved with good intentions? Was this one of those times?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lucy knew when a story had legs and would run, and Lydia’s tip-off about the school system taking Ike Stoughton to court was one of those stories that was full of human interest. Depending on your point of view, it pitted a stern father against a helpless child, or it pitted a taxpaying citizen against a meddlesome government bureaucracy. Did a parent have the right to impose his beliefs on a child, even when it was detrimental to the child’s safety and well-being? And how far could society, represented here by the school system, intrude into the privileged sanctity of the home? These were all legitimate questions that would get strong reactions from readers, but Lucy still felt like a muckraker when she called the superintendent’s office and asked if the school department was going to take Ike Stoughton to court.

  “You know I can’t comment on an individual student,” said Pete Winslow. “Student records are confidential. Strictly confidential. But I can tell you this,” he began, warming to his subject. “We have a strict attendance policy in the Tinker’s Cove school system, and we take absences, especially extended absences, very seriously.”

  Lucy suspected the superintendent wanted to get the word out and was issuing a warning to Ike as well as to any other delinquent families.

  “If a student must be absent due to illness for more than a week, we require a doctor’s note. If there is no note, the student is considered a truant, and we will prosecute both the student and the responsible—or perhaps I should say irresponsible—parent or guardian.”

  “So this is simply a matter of truancy? You don’t intervene if you suspect abuse?” asked Lucy.

  “Frankly, that’s the reason for the doctor’s note. We want to make sure that a child who cannot come to school is seen by a medical professional. You’d be surprised how many abuse cases are discovered this way.”

  Actually, Lucy wouldn’t be surprised. She’d been a reporter for a long time, and she knew more than she wanted to about domestic abuse. “So is the school department currently pursuing any truancy cases?” she asked.

  “Oh, all the time,” said Winslow.

  “In the courts?” she asked.

  “If we have to, we will. There’s a process, of course. We start with the guidance counselor. If that doesn’t improve matters, we go on to the truant officer, and if he can’t make any headway, we refer the case to the district attorney.”

  “So any case that went to court would be a public record?” asked Lucy.

  “Not if the truant is a minor,” said Winslow. “Then the file is sealed.”

  “Oh,” said Lucy, disappointed.

  “We really try to be sensitive,” said Winslow, sounding for the first time like a human being instead of reciting administrative jargon. “We don’t want to get people in trouble. All we want, you know, is what’s best for the student. A lot of the time we’re the only ones looking out for the kid; we’re the only ones who can step in and protect the child.”

  “Have you seen an uptick in abuse?” asked Lucy. “Considering the economy, the high gas and food prices, the foreclosures?”

  “These are difficult times for a lot of our families,” said Winslow. “Andy French, the business manager, can give you the latest figures on the school lunch program.”

  Lucy took the hint. “Thanks for your time,” she said as an instant message from Phyllis appeared on her computer screen, advising her that there were a large number of legal ads this week.

  She opened the file and discovered at least twelve foreclosure notices. Scanning through them, she recognized quite a few names. Some were people whose families had lived in town for generations, and others were newcomers, often immigrants, who’d originally come to Maine as summer workers and stayed on. The very last announcement was a shocker, however: Peter Symonds. No wonder he’d been so angry with her; she’d be angry, too, if she was about to lose her home.

  Acting on impulse, she called the police station and asked for her old friend Barney Culpepper.

  “Just a follow-up,” she began, staring at Symonds’s foreclosure notice on her screen. “Has there been any progress in the Malebranche case? You know, the guy who was burned.”

  “Don’t remind me. I think about that poor bastard every day.”

  “So I guess that means you’re not any closer to solving it?”

  “You said it.”

  “It’s been a long time….”

  “Almost four months.”

  “I see that his assistant, you know, the guy who made the balloon animals, is losing his house.”

  “That’s not surprising. He lost his job, after all, when Malebranche died.” Barney sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s much call for magician’s assistant
s. It’s kind of a specialized thing.”

  “I suppose not,” admitted Lucy. “You must have questioned him, right? He’s kind of an oddball.”

  “That doesn’t make him a murderer,” chided Barney. “I’m sure he was questioned pretty thoroughly. I never heard him mentioned as a suspect.”

  Lucy’s ears pricked up. “Who was mentioned?” she asked.

  “You know I can’t tell you that, but off the record, I heard they took a long, hard look at the members of that coven, including your buddy Diana. There was a certain amount of jealousy among the members, and there were some jokes about that Lady Sybil.”

  Lucy was incredulous. “Was she a suspect?”

  Barney was noncommittal. “They all came up clean—and this is strictly off the record, mind you.”

  “I know. I’m just killing time here, having a nice chat, looking for deep background, as we call it in the news business. Say, do you happen to know who’s the truant officer?”

  “That would be me.”

  “I didn’t know that,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah,” he replied. “It’s not my favorite job. I like the community outreach part of my job a lot better.” As community outreach officer, Barney conducted home-safety workshops for senior citizens, organized a bike-safety program for kids every spring, and issued warnings about the danger of fireworks in July and about Christmas tree fires in December. Soon he’d be visiting classes in the elementary school to remind students to wear reflective clothing when they went trick-or-treating and to make sure their parents examined their candy before they ate it.

  “I heard a rumor that the school department is taking Ike Stoughton to court because Abby’s been out of school for over a month with no doctor’s note.”

  “Lucy, for Pete’s sake! I can’t talk about that.”

  “So it’s true,” said Lucy.

  “You didn’t hear it from me,” said Barney.

  “You don’t happen to know the court date, do you?”

  “What good would that do you? It’s a closed hearing.”

  “If I just happened to be there, in the lobby, I could ask some questions.”