Sweet Dreams, Irene ik-2

by Jan Burke

  “I’m feeling better. I think a lot of it is mental.”

  She divided up the frittata and we dug in. I was chasing my first bite around the plate with my fork when she said, “How do you mean, mental?”

  “Oh, I guess yesterday was a turning point for me.” I managed to get the bite into my mouth. Rachel and Lydia were going to have me bursting my casts from weight gain. The frittata was great. “Squisita!” I told her.

  She grinned. “Terrific! Not only do you like it, you like it in Italian. So tell me about yesterday.”

  I told her, leaving out details concerning the hours alone with Frank after sailing and after Cassie left. I told her about my decision to get out and about a little more.

  “Sounds good to me. You want to go for a ride somewhere today?”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d love it.”

  “I know — we’ll go clothes shopping.”

  I looked at her doubtfully.

  “For sweatpants and other things that would be easy for you to wear.”

  I thought of being in a store, around that many people, looking in mirrors at myself.

  “On the other hand—” she began, seeing my brows furrow, but I cut her off.

  “No, Rachel, you’re right. And I’ll have you along for company, so I know I’ll enjoy it.”

  We finished breakfast, and I did what I could to help clean up. The phone rang. It was Frank.

  “Bad news, I’m afraid,” he said.

  “No search warrant.”

  “No warrant. I’m really sorry, Irene. I can’t get anybody to touch it. I thought Sloane would see himself as a lame duck and go for broke.”

  Sloane had been appointed as acting D.A. when we lost our last one. His term would be over in January, but apparently it didn’t make him any braver.

  “Thanks for trying, Frank. I guess I was expecting things to go this way. Sounds like Gannet is safe.”

  “Try not to let it get you down, okay?”

  “I won’t. Rachel is taking me shopping today. I’m going to get some sweatpants of my own.”

  “I don’t know, you looked pretty good in the pair you were wearing this morning. But have fun. Be careful. I’ll see you tonight.”

  I hung up the phone and felt a surge of frustration and anger.

  “You look like you need to punch somebody. What’s going on?” Rachel asked.

  “Apparently, Mr. Gannet is beyond reach. Frank says the D.A. won’t go for a search warrant.”

  She studied me for a moment. “There’s nothing worse than being fairly certain someone is guilty and not being able to nail them. Sorry, Irene.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to put it out of my mind. Shall we go?”

  But before we could leave, the phone rang again. It was Jacob.

  “You remember Zoe — the lady at Rhiannon?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I went in there the other day to give her some of Sammy’s things. Mrs. Riley gave them to me to give to Sammy’s parents, but I didn’t think they would want the witch stuff. Anyway, I was talking to Zoe about Sammy and about you, and she said she’d like to talk to you. I’ve got her phone number if you want it.”

  “Thanks.” I wrote the number down.

  “She’s kind of goofy, but she’s nice.”

  “You probably tell people the same thing about me.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said, taking me far too seriously. “I mean, I don’t tell them you’re goofy.”

  “Well, thanks again, Jacob. Come by and visit sometime soon.”

  We hung up and I had a smile on my face.

  “He’s a good kid,” Rachel said.

  “That he is,” I said, feeling my spirits rise a little. I dialed the number for Zoe.

  “Rhiannon.”

  “Hi, Zoe. Irene. Jacob said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “Oh, Irene, yes! I have something for you.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, let it be a surprise. A little gift from me to you.”

  That in itself surprised me, but I said, “I’ll be coming that way a little later on. Maybe I can talk my ride into stopping by.”

  “Wonderful! And don’t let that Leo’s pride of yours keep you away.”

  RACHEL WAS WILLING to stop by Rhiannon, but we decided to go shopping first. My orthopedist had given me a cane, and I took it along, not knowing how much walking I’d do. I seldom used it, since it tied up my only free hand.

  We went to a store called Nobody Out. It’s in a shopping district in downtown Las Piernas, where the sidewalks tend to be fairly crowded, so there were plenty of eyes on me. Rachel parked her rental car as close to the store as she could manage, about a block away. I found out that there was actually a certain amount of amusement to be had in watching people react to me. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed faces are fairly comical. I couldn’t move very quickly, even using the cane, but I only got jostled once. After that, Rachel managed to block for me.

  By the time we got to the store, I had worked off some of the disappointment I had been feeling about Gannet. I felt better. I felt a little wistful, too, since this was where I had bought my running shoes, and running was not going to be in the plan for some time yet. One more ability you will have greater appreciation for after it is returned to you, I told myself.

  I had chosen to go to Nobody Out because I buy most of my sports clothes there, and that proved to be of help. Helen, a college student who works there part-time, knows me fairly well, and didn’t fuss over the injuries.

  “You ski into a tree, Irene?” she asked lightly.

  “No, but that’s a good story to have on hand.”

  When I didn’t offer any further explanation, she said, “What can I do for you?”

  I gave her an idea of what kinds of things were easiest to put on and take off. She went to work, and Rachel looked like a pack animal by the time we left.

  As we were walking and hobbling back to the car, something made me turn around — a sensation of being watched.

  A black limousine was pulling up alongside us.

  I let the cane clatter to the sidewalk and grabbed on to Rachel so hard she dropped the packages. As she saw what had startled me, she said softly but firmly, “I’m here, Irene. I’ll protect you. We’re out on the street in broad daylight with people everywhere. He can’t do anything to you.”

  I looked at her. She had left the packages on the ground and had taken a no-nonsense stance next to me. She looked so strong and determined that I relaxed a little.

  I watched our mirrored reflections roll down as a rear window was lowered. A tall, silver-haired man looked out at us and smiled. Under other circumstances, I would have said he was dignified and handsome, looking like a pillar of the community. But that same smile could have been seen on the face that led Little Red Riding Hood to say, “My, but what big teeth you have, Grandma.”

  “How nice to see you out and about, Miss Kelly,” he said. “I’m Malcolm Gannet.”

  “I know,” I managed. Please don’t let him see how scared I am, I thought.

  “No need to be frightened, Miss Kelly.”

  Well, shit. But I grew angry, so my prayer was answered. “What exactly do you want, Mr. Gannet?”

  “I wondered the same about you, Miss Kelly. Remarkable reports have reached my ears. Your friend — well, really more than a friend, isn’t he? Your lover? Your—”

  “Say what you have to say,” Rachel said in a low, commanding voice.

  He looked over at her. “Miss Giocopazzi, isn’t it? Che piacere.”

  “So you’ve been to Berlitz. Glad one of us finds it a pleasure. Now, why don’t you leave Miss Kelly alone?”

  “I wonder why Miss Kelly won’t leave me alone? Really, Miss Kelly. A search warrant? You wouldn’t have found anything on the Long Shot. I guarantee it.” That hungry wolf look again.

  I said nothing.

  “No use bothering by now, is there?” Rachel said. “I imagine you’ve made s
ure everything is just shipshape.”

  “Tell me, Miss Giocopazzi, how do you find time to act as nursemaid and chauffeur to Miss Kelly? Perhaps Detective Baird is less than fascinating company?”

  Rachel’s smile was cold enough to skate on. “You can find trouble without begging so hard for it.”

  “Miss Kelly—” he began, attempting to ignore Rachel.

  “Leave Miss Kelly alone,” she interrupted. “Go on home. I’ll even give you something to look up in your Italian dictionary: Va’ a fare una bella cacata! Ti sentirai meglio.”

  She turned to pick up the packages, and not wanting to be left staring at him, I turned to help her.

  I heard him mutter something to our backs, then the car drove off. I was trembling. I collected the cane from where I had dropped it. Straightening, I fought off the urge to cry.

  “Irene. Don’t let him get to you. He’s just trying to scare you.”

  “I wasn’t one-tenth as scared as I would have been if you weren’t here. Thanks for sticking up for me.” We slowly made our way to her car. “By the way, what was that last thing you said to him in Italian?”

  She laughed. “I told him, ‘Take a good shit, you’ll feel better.’”

  I GAVE HER DIRECTIONS to Rhiannon. When we pulled up in front of the shop, Rachel looked at me with wide eyes.

  “You’re going in there?”

  “Want to come along?”

  “And have some old strega put the malocchio on me?” She held up her index and little finger on one hand like horns and spat three times between them.

  I laughed and made my way into the store. The idea of Zoe putting an evil eye on someone amused me to no end.

  “Zoe, do you do hexes?” I asked by way of greeting. I found I was beginning to enjoy the spicy smell of the shop.

  “Hello, Irene! As a general rule, no. The main tenet of Wicca is ‘Harm no one and do as thou wilt.’ Hexes are not to be taken lightly.” She had her back to me and was spreading some powder on the window sills of the shop. She turned and saw me, and took in my injuries with a quick glance. “You have a very strong spirit, Irene, which has served you well. I’m sorry you were hurt.”

  “I’m healing,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh,” she said, smiling. “Putting out protection powder — an ancient herbal recipe for protection from thieves.”

  “Have you had problems with break-ins?”

  “No, but I dreamed that someone broke in and stole an athalme.”

  I searched my memory. “A knife?”

  “A ritual knife. Come into the back, I’ll show you.”

  Setting the cane aside, I followed her through the narrow aisles, dodging boxes of herbs yet unpacked. She talked as we made our way. “There are four elements: air, earth, water, and fire. The athalme represents the air element. It is used to separate sacred ground from the rest.”

  “Separate it?”

  “The athalme is used to draw a circle on the ground in an unbroken manner. It is never used to cut anything. Another knife is needed for cutting herbs and so on.”

  We came to a glass case filled with knives. Most had long, black handles. Zoe explained that most athalmes were black-handled. I glanced over some white-handled knives, and then my eyes came to rest on something that made me stand stock-still.

  A knife with an animal foot on its handle.

  “Oh, you’ve noticed the deer-foot knife,” she said, seeming embarrassed. “I know, I should get it out of here. Maybe that’s what the dream was about.”

  “Deer-foot?”

  “Someone convinced me that some witches liked the representation of the goddess in the hoof. I had four of them. This is the only one that’s left, and I don’t think I like it. In fact, I didn’t like the auras of the men who purchased the other three.”

  “Were the others purchased all at the same time? By two brothers?”

  She looked at me and said, “Yes, I suppose they could have been bothers, though I’m not sure. But they were here at the same time and bought the knives together.”

  I described Devon and Raney.

  “Yes, that sounds like them. How did you know they were the ones who bought the knives?”

  I hesitated. I knew she had been fond of Sammy. I didn’t want Zoe to know that one of the knifes might have been used to kill her. “I’m not sure. Just a feeling that it was something they might do. They’re the ones who did this to me. Well, most of it.”

  She sensed my mood change and said, “Well, I told you I had a little something for you.” She pulled two stones out of her pocket. “I hope you will accept these with an open mind.”

  One was oblong and dark green, roughly the diameter of a pencil, a little less than two inches long. The other, nearly the diameter of a dime, was rounded and transparent, a light purple color. “Jade and amethyst,” she said, as I took them from her. “Jacob tells me that you have trouble sleeping. The amethyst has long been regarded as able to cure insomnia, relieve pain and tension, even to give prophetic dreams. The ancients believed that jade gives health and long life, accurate judgment, and protection from nightmares. I want you to have these.”

  Doubt as I might that two little stones could do all that, the kindness of the gesture was not lost on me. “Thank you, Zoe. I’ll give them a try.”

  “I’ll miss Sammy,” she said softly. “She was a bright and eager student of Wicca. She seemed happy just to come in here and ask questions about herbs and spells and charms. I enjoyed her company. May she sleep in bliss until she returns. Blessed be.”

  We both stood for a while, thinking our own thoughts. I rolled the stones over in my hand.

  “Zoe,” I said, “I’d like to buy that last knife.”

  She gave a start, and stared at me. But then she said, “Of course.” She unlocked the case and gave me the knife. It was in a leather sheath and had a brass hilt on it. The fur on the handle was soft and the cloven black hoof on the end was hard and shiny. I couldn’t unsheathe it with one hand, so she drew it out for me. The blade was about five inches long and had a blood groove in it. It looked mean enough, all right. I thought of a similar knife cutting out Sammy’s heart, and felt sick.

  Zoe sheathed the knife again and said, “Be very careful, Irene.”

  I forced a smile and reached into my pocket. I dropped the stones into it and pulled out the money to pay for the knife.

  “No, take it,” Zoe said.

  I shook my head. “I’ll pay for it. I don’t want the protection powder working against me as a thief.”

  She smiled and took the cash. She gave me my change and put the knife in a bag. I gathered up my cane, then thanked her for the stones and told her I’d let her know if they worked for me.

  Outside, Rachel was looking worried, and I felt bad about spending so much time inside the store. “What’s in the bag?” she asked.

  “Bambi’s right foot,” I said.

  She made a face of pure disgust.

  I reached into my pocket and held on to the stones.

  35

  AS SOON AS WE were back home, Rachel called Frank to let him know what had happened. He was furious with Gannet, but there wasn’t much any of us could do about it.

  As the afternoon wore on, I found myself fumbling with the stones in my pockets. It had an odd meditative effect, reminding me somewhat of how it used to feel to handle rosary beads, something I hadn’t done in years. I was able to think things through a little more calmly.

  I realized that Gannet would not be trying to intimidate me unless he thought I could in some way connect him to the murders. If he felt safe, he wouldn’t have risked bullying me, especially not out on the streets of downtown Las Piernas. I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was I was supposed to know, but it was clear that he was convinced I could cause him trouble. I mentally replayed the conversations I had overheard in the mountains, all to no avail.

  Lydia relieved Rachel from Kelly-duty at about six o’clock that evening. She
noticed I was feeling edgy, and so I told her about the events of the afternoon. Since the day I told Jack what had happened in the mountains, I had found it easier to tell other friends about it, so Lydia knew why being caught out on the street with Gannet was upsetting to me. She had some novel ideas about fitting punishments for Mr. Gannet. Italians, I was reminded, had coined the term “vendetta.” Still, as time passed without my being able to determine what Gannet was after, my nervousness increased.

  We called out for a pizza, each drinking a glass of red wine while we waited for it. Jack stopped by and asked me if I wanted to go sailing with him late the next afternoon, to try to catch the sunset. I readily agreed. He left, we had a second glass of wine, and the pizza arrived. I was making slow progress through my first piece when Lydia suddenly said, “What if it isn’t Gannet?”

  “After the way he acted today?”

  “There could be other reasons for that, Irene.”

  “Such as?”

  “You’re a reporter. It happens all the time — I know this isn’t the first time someone has tried to intimidate you. Maybe he fears that you’ll harm his reputation, write some story about him that will cause him to lose his standing in the community.”

  “I don’t believe he’s really worried about that.”

  “Sure he is. Or at least, he could be. He’s a businessman. More than that — a developer. He depends on people in City Hall to cooperate with permits and zoning regulations and hand over all sorts of other approvals. If you wrote something implicating him in a murder investigation — especially this one, with Satanism being hinted at — you know no one on the City Council would go anywhere near him.”

  “He’s probably got a certificate of ownership for every vote he needs on the council,” I said.

  “Cynic.”

  “Realist.”

  “Even if you’re right, you’ve covered politics long enough to know that buying politicians never comes with a money-back guarantee. Gannet can’t be that sure of their support. Abandoning him might mean some of them would have to scramble for funds from somewhere else, but that’s not as bad as being linked to a homicidal Satanist. Counteracting that kind of bad press is very expensive.”