Hexes and X's (Z&C Mysteries, #3)

by Kane, Zoey

  “Sure! Where money and treasure are involved some people become obsessed.”

  “Speak for yourself, Kendaloaf. For all we know, you did it.”

  “Or, you council-man Swift. I’ve always thought you were a little shady anyway.”

  “You are fired!”

  “You can’t fire me. I’m on a city retainer for five more years!”

  Swift leaped forward and threw a punch at the lawyer and the fight was on.

  It is so unbecoming, Zo thought, to see people who were otherwise educated and refined, messing each other’s hair up, red in the face, and grunting in a struggle.

  Pretty soon the judge reappeared at the top of the stairs with a rolled canvas under his arm, followed by the deputy who had a grip on Pat Bule’s arm. “I’m telling you that I didn’t cut down that painting. I don’t know how it got in my room; I didn’t do it!”

  “I’d have the deputy put you in handcuffs, Bule, except where you going to go?!” The wind howled and the lights blinked some more. “By thunder! Jones, get that fight under control! And, give them tickets for disturbing the peace!”

  It only took a moment for the Officer of The Court to pull Kendaloaf apart from Swift and get Swift in a headlock. “Promise you will quit the fight and I will let you go,” he said to the struggling man who didn’t reply. So, Jones applied a little more pressure.

  “Aagggh! I promise! I promise already.”

  The deputy let go. Swift fell against the wall, which kept him from falling to the floor.

  “Okay. Go about your business and no more shenanigans!” the judge said generally to the crowd and headed away with the canvas still in custody and a very wry smile upon his lips. “At two o’clock, I will have the canvas ready for everyone to look at—in the library. I better not see anyone in my room!” he yelled back over his shoulder at the people.

  “Oh, yeah.” The judge turned around a moment. “Bule! Consider yourself on house arrest. If you are stupid enough to run for it, and the storm doesn’t kill you, I will sign a warrant and hunt you down like the criminal you are! Oh, the rest of you may go about your business now.” He turned and resumed his pace back to his room.

  EIGHTEEN

  The house became a place of people crawling around on it like ants after a banquet. Nice people were telling other nice people to mind their own business. At 2 p.m. there was a race between teams down the hallway to the library. It looked like a musical-chairs dash for best seating up front to look at the canvas painting of Captain Dread. Evidently the Coven House Witches were a unified team, because they were in such accord that watching them walk down the hallway together was like watching a march, where they swayed right foot, left foot, shoulder to shoulder, arm linked to arm.

  The judge rolled the canvas open over the front of a desk for everyone to look at. Some drew a rough sketch and made points, while others just noted directions or positions of things in the painting.

  Council-woman Anne Lane said after a moment of silence, “I think that the scripture is just the feelings of a murderous pirate hoping that the Lord will forgive him.”

  “Who cares what you think. Shut up!” barked Pat.

  “What do you think, Cynthia?” Zo just wanted to stir the pot a little for some amusement.

  The witch glanced over her shoulder in a kind of are-you-daring-to-talk-to-me look. “If I had some special understanding—and I’m not saying I don’t—I wouldn’t tell you, now would I?!” Then she opened her mouth to let out a breathy hiss.

  Zo glanced over at Claire with a smile. Claire squinted her eyes, wrinkled her nose, puckered her mouth showing her front two teeth and clawed at the air twice, to which her mom played along with a quiet hiss. A couple of people noticed and were sniggering.

  “LADIES!” the judge called. “I realize you two are merely demonstrating the proclivity of your female gender, but draw your claws in and get serious!”

  Claire still had a claw raised and she took the other hand and pushed down each finger as if putting away her weapons, then relaxed the pucker into a smile. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Anyone looking at Cynthia would see her head slightly down while looking up with an irritated brow, arms folded, knees crossed, and a foot rocking side to side rapidly.

  After a while the judge announced, “Okay. Time’s up. Get out!”

  “How would Sam Spade, detective, describe all this, Mom?”

  “He would say, while the music of soft jazz and blues played on an organ behind him, ‘I’ve been in a lot of run down joints and back alleys, but nothing can compare to the elite and their guilty greed. Murder has many disguises—all of them pointing a gun at my back.’”

  *

  The duo returned to the kitchen. The judge had asked Deputy Jones to remain with him a moment. A few people were feeling comfortable enough to come in for a bite to eat, informally—every man for himself.

  The council people were sitting at the end of the table, talking quietly to themselves, but audibly enough to be heard if one cared to listen. “Well if we find the treasure, I want to give a generous amount of my portion to the social projects that are needed for the town,” said Anne in her sweet little voice.

  Mr. Swift replied, “Very commendable, Anne.”

  Pat walked by close enough to rumple the back of Anne’s short hair, giving her a rooster tail appearance.

  “Hey, watch out!”

  “Or you’ll what?!” challenged the offender.

  The council woman stood up. “I’m tired of your attitude and bad manners, Miss Bule.”

  Pat reached forward and rubbed Anne’s hair, messing it further. The council woman went to whap her, but was prevented by a hand to the forward, holding her flailing motions at an arm’s-length away. This was unnerving to onlookers, who didn’t know what to expect, and felt sorry and embarrassed for Pat’s victim. But then, sweet council-woman Lane did the unthinkable, and kicked Pat in the shins, causing her to let go, bend, and grab her calves. Lane picked up an empty saucepan and popped it against Pat’s head. Before Pat could figure out what was happening, Lane gave her head another pop. The pan rang out, punctuating Lane’s satisfaction.

  Lawyer Kendaloaf took the pan and pushed Bule a distance away. “You are lucky this is a pan that was close by and not a skillet,” he said. “You will stop and not have any further contact with Mrs. Lane or I will file a claim against you that will put you in jail and have you serving community service on the highway. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, holding her head.

  “Go to your room, Miss Bule—you have embarrassed yourself.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Go to your room. Come down later.”

  Pat straightened up and headed for the doorway. As she passed Cynthia, who arrived just in time to see it all, the beautifully evil witch snickered. Pat turned, with a raged look, whereupon Cynthia moved next to Kendaloaf and gave Pat a knowing look.

  Hot dogs, chili, sauerkraut, onions, mustard, ketchup, pickles, potato chips were getting laid out as Mrs. Lane received congratulations. It seemed everyone was in a mood of celebration, followed up by ice cream sundaes.

  “Hey, somebody make me a sundae.” It was Slobber, still weak, but out with a little exuberance.

  “Does your roommate Jack want a sundae as well?” asked the serving Coven House witch with a smile.

  “Naw. I think he is dying or something. What he wants is his mama; but for sure we both don’t want any more porridge or chicken soup with noodles.”

  “Okay,” she said, undaunted by Slobber.

  NINETEEN

  The house continuously shuddered with the war of the storm. The evening deepened into gray and black shadows. The lights flickered and flickered and then went solidly out. One of the witches ran with a flashlight down the stairs into the basement. Everyone stood waiting in the hallway foyer, except those who had been in other rooms, now joining up to see what was being done. “Sorry,” the one witch said at her
reappearance. “It’s not the fuses, so something has happened outside, somewhere else. We have candles we will pass out with their lanterns for those who want them.” Lightning flashed, flooding the inside of the house, followed by a loud cannon of thunder.

  “Move aside!” The rather skeletal and pale face of Jack appeared, his eyes darkly rimmed by gaunt sockets. He looked awful—and had a gun. “All of you, over here. Except for you, Claire.” He waved his gun in the direction of the door.

  “Jack. You are in a hospital gown and socks.”

  “Good point, Claire. Slobber, my man, give me your jeans.”

  “What?! I ain’t givin’ you my jeans.”

  “This gun says otherwise.” He shot at the floor in front of Slobber. Slobber was unzipping in a hurry.

  “Some people get so goofy in a storm. Get a little rain on their head and they lose control of their hair and their brains. Here’s your pants. Juss be careful with that, waving it all ’round like you know what end the bullet comes out of.”

  “Champion shooter last year. Shut up! You should be ashamed, looking like that in your panties in front of these refined ladies.”

  Slobber looked down and then crossed his hands in front. “Beggin’ your pardon,” he said to the ladies on either side.

  “Here,” said Judy. She handed him a pink pleated skirt that she had been carrying in her overnight bag.

  “Yeah, that suits you. Everybody stay put.” Jack waved his gun some more. “Claire! You come with me.”

  “Now wait a moment,” Kendaloaf objected. “Where’s the deputy and the judge?”

  “That is for me to know and you to find out. Heh-heh. Claire, I said come here, or I will start shooting these good people. You!” He pointed his gun to the woman holding the flashlight: “Hand that over to Claire.”

  Claire started to move forward and so did Zo. “You stay put, Claire’s mother, and she will turn out just fine. Anyone follow us and I cannot be held responsible for my unbalanced mental condition. She just might end up in an accident with this gun. NOW STAY BACK.” He pulled Claire to his side. “I’ll shoot your mother if you give me any problem,” he warned her, “and, I’ll shoot you. You know I will. Now head up those stairs to the attic. You’re going to show me where the pearls are your mother found.”

  They were two black silhouettes heading up the dark stairs with a light beam ahead of them as they climbed. Everyone watched, afraid someone still might get shot.

  When they were out of sight, Zo instructed, “Everyone fan out to find what happened to the deputy and the judge.”

  “Yeah, me and Mom is goin’ after Claire and the nut cake!” Slobber added.

  “Too right you are on that. I have to stop in my room and pick up an equalizer.” Zo trotted up the stairs to get her gun, with Slobber right beside in his pink lady skirt and bony knees. When she returned to the hall, the .22 automatic was in its clip, holstered on her hip, both pockets of her designer jeans filled with extra bullets. She handed Slobber a flashlight so they both had one.

  When they got to the door to the attic it was locked. “I’ll break it down!” Slobber lunged at the door, only to be thrown back by the same velocity.

  “Wait!” Zo bent down and picked up something shiny laying in a heap against the base board by the door. “Clever girl. She dropped the silver key to the attic door and hatch. So we are right behind them all the way.” Zo inserted the key and turned it. “We don’t know how close we are to them, so we need to be quiet, even in our footsteps.” She placed the key on its chain around her neck.

  The two tiptoed softly up the twisting iron stairs, turned off the flashlights at the top, and carefully eyed the attic before stepping in. The rain poured, sounding as if it was on tin cans. The floor’s hatch was still flipped open. Lightning lit up the attic. There was no one visible, no sound being made. “I don’t hear anyone, so I think they have gone on ahead,” Zo whispered.

  The two moved swiftly but quietly across the floor and listened for any further evidence of Claire and Jack. Nothing. Zo took a chance and flashed a light down the hatch and still all was quiet, so she proceeded down the ladder. Slobber followed. “Don’t be lookin’ up my skirt, Mom.”

  Zo chuckled at the thought. “As if…”

  *

  Jack held Claire’s hand so tight to push and pull her along that she could feel her pulse pound in her fingers. Meanwhile, she was expected to keep the light beamed ahead of them. They moved on through the rooms without hesitation and managed not to get bit. Jack had been in all the rooms before, so he felt the only place the pearls would be was in the sewer where the pouch was found.

  “My mother only found one pearl, Jack. I don’t know where there are any other pearls.”

  “I know you two. You solved the Belmont case. You solve puzzles, and that is why you were invited here by Matilda—to find her treasure. You know where it is, and you better show me!” He slapped Claire across the face and jerked her up close, eye to eye. “I won’t fool around with you. I’m a desperate man and at this point I don’t have time for romancing you into giving me the answers.”

  “Oh, too bad. I was so looking forward to that.”

  “Some other time,” he said, taking her seriously and looking very agitated.

  Jack pulled open the door to the sewer and the noise of rushing water was greater than what Claire remembered. When they moved onto the steps, Claire was shocked and scared to see that the storm had increased the sluggish river of the sewer into rushing water that had swelled over the bottom landing. The boat, however, was still tethered to the dock and had moved up with the rising water, bobbing madly with the onslaught.

  “There is no way to achieve anything down here in this flood, Jack. It is too dangerous, and I already told you we didn’t find a chest of pearls; only one pearl.”

  “Get in the boat!” he demanded.

  “There are no oars.”

  “Get in the boat, I said. The current will take us down.”

  Claire slowly got into the boat. So did Jack, who unclipped the chain that held it, and they began to be quickly carried down the river. They bucked with the rapids, and Claire gripped the metal sides of their little vessel in distress. Sewer water heaved itself inside, splashing them. It seemed all would soon end, which was true; the raging water could be seen swelling over a sudden drop—the waterfall. Claire braced herself, remembering to leap far out on the way down, to miss the giant grate that could suck one under into a stinking abyss of the unknown.

  A rumble from above boomed like an action sequence in a movie theater. Claire looked up with desperate eyes. The sewer’s dirt ceiling was avalanching down.

  TWENTY

  Slobber opened the door to the gate room and the attic’s hatch closed. “I’m glad we have these here flashlights.”

  “Yes, and now we are committed to going forward. So move on through,” Zo urged.

  They were flashing their lights around, the two beams going in rapidly different directions, when suddenly they heard some whooping calls. “Over here! Zoey Kane!”

  Slobber and Zo shone their lights in the direction of the gate, and to their surprise it was Deputy Jones and Judge Huff, whose white hair was all mussed and his tie hung loose and crooked.

  “Wow, Dude has been busy!” said Slobber with his big horsey smile.

  “If you mean that crazy man in a hospital gown and socks that ran by here with Miss Kane,” criticized the judge, “it wasn’t him. It was the demented woman, Pat Bule, who overtook us when we weren’t looking, and forced us down here on the threat of death.”

  “The threat of death? I agree she is pretty scary with that temper, but two big guys like you? Hard to believe,” said Zo. She took off the key around her neck and put the back end into the lock and the gate slid up. The two bedraggled prisoners walked out.

  “She sorta got a hold of my gun in a wrestle,” said the deputy sheepishly. “That woman would shoot her grandma. We weren’t taking any chances, especially
since she knew how to take the safety off and load the chamber.”

  “Everybody around here knows how to shoot!” stated the judge, aggravated.

  “That’s right! My chicken, Sweet Pea, can squeeze a shot off and hit a target.” Slobber began a mulish laugh, lifting one leg and slapping a knee. “That’s why, when I come home late at night, I never go ’round to the back kitchen door. Yep, it’s bang, flap-flap, cluck-cluck, bang, flap-flap, cackle!”

  “I’m not in the mood, Mr. Slobber.”

  “Yes, Yer Honor.”

  “We have to get going since Jack has kidnapped Claire.” Zo was an inch short of a panic.

  “Yes, we saw them,” said the judge. “All he did was laugh when he saw us and kept going. Can you get us back up to the attic with that key?”

  Zo took the judge back through the hatch and unlocked the floor door to the attic so that he could go through. But Deputy Jones wanted to go with Slobber and Zo, because Crazy Jack and Murderous Pat were somewhere out there.

  The deputy had said, “You are going to have to feel your way in the dark, Your Honor. We need the flashlights.” The judge assured he could find his way back in the dark, and left the three to themselves.

  The trio made their way through the spiders with Slobber only screaming once. The snakes ran off when the flashlight shone on them in the dark, all except for one rattler which uncoiled up at them as if to strike. Zo shot his head off, and they continued on through to the sewer.

  Standing there, studying the raging rush of the water, Deputy Jones said, “The riverbed is rough, but I think we can make it. Are you two going to be okay—since I guess we’re going swimming?”

  “’Fraid there is no other way,” said Zo with resolve, looking at the putrid challenge. Her desire to save Claire outweighed the fear and disgust.

  For once Slobber had nothing to say.

  “Is that a tear I see in your eye?” the deputy kidded him.