She entered the house and closed the door behind her.
Richard and Mr. Chatterton were already at the kitchen door.
“Are you letting us in or not?” the millionaire asked brusquely.
Josie bolted to the kitchen and opened the door.
“I can’t,” Josie said. “One of them is upstairs.”
“We saw her.”
“Did she see you?”
“We don’t want to be an inconvenience,” Mr. Chatterton added.
“Nonsense!” Richard said. “Let us in. We will be an inconvenience.”
“Oh…” the girl hesitated. “I guess it’s better if you come in.” She pulled Richard in. “She will leave in a minute. You caught me off guard,” she apologized to Mr. Chatterton. She led the two men into the living room and made sure she closed the swinging door behind. “It’s still early. I was about to bring down the food.”
“Early?” Richard asked. “We were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. Have you met Mr. Chatterton?”
“I told you I have,” Josie responded. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Chatterton,” she shook his hand shyly.
“Call me Bob,” the man obliged.
He was a thin man, dressed in coat and tie. He seemed young, but the gray hairs in his chin and sides revealed that he was well into his forties.
“Josie is such a talented young woman, Bob,” Richard said. “You’ll be glad we came here.”
“About that…” the girl began to say, but she was interrupted by George, spying through one of the front windows.
“Are you sure we can’t come in?” he asked.
“One of my landladies is still here,” Josie explained, opening the door. “You can come in, but you cannot make any noise, until she leaves. And—I don’t know if we should have this meeting, after all. Something terrible happened,” she sobbed. “I’m afraid this is not the best time to have a meeting. Heather died.”
Several exclamations of disbelief followed.
Josie hushed everyone down. Then she dropped onto the couch, crying. “A detective was just here with the news.”
“Why a detective?” Russell asked.
“She was murdered,” Josie responded.
“Murdered?” Eva asked.
Josie glared at Eva. Hadn’t she just said that? Why did that stupid woman always have to be so stupid? She could at least show some respect for her grief.
“Who is Heather?” Richard asked.
“She was Josie’s best friend,” Russell explained.
“She was more than a best friend,” Josie sniveled. “She was like my sister. She knew everything about me and I knew everything about her… And I may be the cause of why she’s dead. I feel so guilty!”
“Why would you be responsible?” Russell took a seat next to her.
“Because I heard her scream and I didn’t run to help her,” Josie squealed. “I ran away instead of going to her rescue.”
“Ran away from what?” Noelia piped in.
“From the murderer!” Josie covered her eyes in a crying fit.
“Where were you?”
“At the cemetery.”
“We so need to hear this,” Richard hissed to his friend, pulling one of the dining chairs to sit down and asking Mr. Chatterton to follow suit with a gesture. “I know we planned to be brief and stick to the agenda,” he whispered, “but we cannot start now, it wouldn’t be right. Besides, she’s piqued my curiosity about this Heather…”
“I’m intrigued, too,” Bob responded candidly, revealing a Southern drawl that made Richard shudder with pleasure.
They all sat down, Eva and Russell next to Josie, George on Victoria’s rocking chair, and Noelia, John, and Cora next to Richard and Bob Chatterton at the dining table. Richard waved at everyone politely. Cora was sweating. She was the youngest person in the room and knew hardly anyone there besides Russell and her husband.
“What were you doing at the cemetery?” Eva asked.
Josie glowered at her. Looking away, she responded with a snivel. “We were doing witchcraft.”
“Witchcraft?” Noelia exclaimed.
“Well…not really witchcraft. It was more of a love potion,” Josie lied, bobbing her head down.
“A love potion?” Richard repeated, hardly concealing his enthusiasm. “Who was it for?”
Russell interrupted. “It was for that loser Heather was in love with, huh? Wasn’t it?”
Josie sunk deeper into the coach.
“It was for you,” she confessed.
Russell couldn’t respond. Eva groaned with disbelief.
“For Russell?” John spoke for the first time. “The poor guy is pining away for you and you want to poison him?”
“It wasn’t poison,” Josie sobbed. “And it wasn’t a love potion, either. It was more of a…love remedy.” She rapidly checked on Russell. He looked helpless.
“You silly girl,” Eva touched Josie’s arm trying to comfort her. “A love potion? Why would you do such a thing?”
“What do you know?” Josie yanked Eva’s hand off. “You don’t know the first thing about love. You don’t love anybody. You’re heartless!”
“What? I know a few things.” Eva grinned. “I know that this poor devil got beaten up trying to impress you. And I know that he was too embarrassed to show up at your place with his head the size of a watermelon because he was afraid you would reject him. Why do you think he had been hiding from you?”
“That is not true,” Josie responded.
“It is!” John intervened. “He thought you would stop liking him if you found him ugly.”
Josie’s expression changed to one of bewilderment. “Is that true?” she asked Russell.
Russell nodded shyly.
“Why would we lie?” Eva exclaimed
“Because you’re in love with him, you vampire!” Josie howled.
Eva puffed with disgust. She hadn’t had a drink since the previous night. Being sober made her impatient. “You stupid girl,” she began. “You didn’t know he got hurt, did you? Those gorillas pounded his head like a gong. He was afraid he would stay like that forever. I took him for an X-ray. He asked me to help him hide so you wouldn’t see him. He went on and on for days about how sensitive you were and how scared you’d be if you saw him with his face like that.”
“You should have never keyed that car,” Josie turned to Russell. “It was very immature on your part.”
“Well, that’s exactly what I said,” Eva continued. “At least you and I can agree on something. You know why he did it? Tell her, Russell, tell your girlfriend why you scratched that car.”
Russell hesitated. He couldn’t bear Josie’s eyes. “I just couldn’t stay sitting next to you and do nothing,” he said at last.
“You called him a loser,” Eva intervened. “That’s why he scratched the car. He didn’t want you to think he was a coward. Who’s acting immature and stupid now?”
Everyone remained silent.
“When was the last time you saw Heather?” Russell asked at last.
“A month ago,” Josie responded, refusing to look at either him or Eva. “The night we went to the Liptons.”
“Is that how you lost your shoes?” Noelia asked.
Josie nodded. She looked at Russell. He was looking at her with pity. She glanced around. Everyone was looking at her with commiseration. Cora seemed the most confused. Josie had never felt more embarrassed in her whole life.
“Did you tell the detective what happened?” Russell asked.
“No,” Josie shook her head.
“You should have told him,” George intervened.
“I was afraid he would think of me as a suspect,” Josie sniveled.
“My God,” Eva lit up a cigarette. “How stupid can you be? You get your boyfriend
beaten up, you dance in your bare bones at the Gas House, you get your best friend killed, and now you lie to the police. What are you going to do next?” She blew out the smoke with a smirk. “You’re so self-centered and conceited—I just can’t believe it. Heather had a son—what is he going to do?”
“I don’t know,” Josie muttered. “And I am not self-centered or conceited. I was deadly worried about her. As a matter of fact, I am the kindest person I know.”
“What?—What the hell were you doing in a cemetery?” Eva laughed. “You’re not kind. You’re the shallowest person I’ve ever met. You’re racist and tacky. You behave as if you had the intelligence of a two-year-old. You treat people like garbage. You’re abusive, you say hurtful stuff—I know the way you refer to me behind my back—you lie, and you expect people to…because that was not the first time that…and I just couldn’t believe when he…or that time when you…”
Josie hadn’t noticed before, but being this close and under the natural light it became more and more evident: Eva was old.
“…because if you hadn’t…and why on earth would you…?”
She was beautiful, all right, but she had tiny crow’s feet around her eyes and lines down the sides of her mouth. Her skin lacked the freshness of a woman in the spring of her lifetime. How old could she be? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine? Maybe even thirty. She looked bad. She had red circles under her eyes. Russell could not be attracted to such a withered woman, not when his nineteen-year-old girlfriend was like a rose in full bloom, could he? Distressed as she was from all of the terrible things that had happened to her that summer, she realized that she was much more beautiful than Eva. Yes, Eva was blonde, fair skinned, and much taller; yes, she had a beautiful accent, but her skin was not as fine-grained as Josie’s. The tone wasn’t uniform. She had wrinkles. And sun freckles. And she was too pale. Her skin looked like wax from a mortuary candle. Her arms were longer, but her chest looked flat in comparison to Josie’s ripe tomatoes. And she was an alcoholic. How could Russell be attracted to her? Maybe he wasn’t, Josie stole a fast glance at him. He was looking at the floor, his hands tied in a knot, not at all interested in Eva. It was true. He and Eva were only friends. Russell still loved her, just as much as she loved him.
“I am not tacky,” Josie interrupted Eva.
“I think you are,” Eva responded.
“Girls, stop it!” Richard exclaimed, interrupting what threatened to become a catfight. “We’re in mourning. And bad news makes me thirsty. Where’s the wine that I sent with Lina? Where are the tarts? Where is my tart? Where is that little brat? Is she hiding?”
“Everything is upstairs in my room” Josie said. “Lina must still be there. I’ll go call her.” She stood up.
“No, no,” Richard forced her to sit down. “You’re too upset to be playing hostess. Let us take care. There are three other women here—Eva, miss…what is your name, sweetie?”
“Cora,” the girl responded.
“Pleased to meet you, Cora,” he extended his hand. “And this Spanish butterfly?”
“Noelia.”
“Noelia,” Richard repeated. “Why don’t the three of you get busy in the kitchen? Do you know how to light an oven?” he asked Eva.
“I do, but—”
“Honey, you made your point. Miss García is not a paradigm of politeness. Now, show some sympathy for her loss, otherwise we’ll never start drinking—Why, hello,” Richard interrupted himself to greet the youngest of Josie’s landladies who had just come downstairs and stood by the swinging kitchen door, contemplating the nine people crowded inside her sisters’ living room as if they were magistrates at a court of justice.
“I completely forgot about you,” Josie said. “I hope you don’t mind my friends.”
“I guess we should leave,” Russell stood up.
“Oh, no. Please stay,” Josie begged, grabbing his hand. The little woman didn’t move. “You’re right, Richard, I’m too upset to do anything. And it doesn’t help to have someone bicker at me,” she glared at Eva. “I could use some food and a glass of wine. And I don’t want to be left alone. You won’t mind, will you?” she asked the little woman, who was twisting the hem of her apron as if she wanted to squeeze juice out of the fabric. “Could you go get the wine and the tarts?” she asked Cora and Noelia.
“Chop, chop, girls,” Richard clapped. “There are men waiting.”
“Thank you,” responded Josie. “Do you want coffee?” She asked everyone but Eva. “Please, Mr. Chatterton—Bob, you have to try hers,” she pointed to the little woman, still frozen. “She makes a pot with molasses—Could you make some of that delicious coffee you make for Mr. Chatterton?” she asked our little friend. “That’s the least we can do.”
“She doesn’t need to,” Bob responded.
“It’s no problem—Can you show Noelia how to light up the oven?” Josie asked her landlady.
“I can take care of the oven,” Eva responded.
“Richard brought some delicacies,” Josie continued, ignoring her. “They’re all upstairs…”
The little woman twitched nervously as she led Noelia and Eva into the kitchen. Cora remained in her seat, not knowing how to help. The little woman offered Eva a box of matches and, before any of them could ask any questions, she rushed outside, climbed up to Josie’s bedroom, picked up a crate of wine and gave it to Noelia, who was already coming up behind her. Then the little woman picked up the trays of quiches and miniature tarts and brought them down to the kitchen. She ushered the two women out and closed the swinging door. She then pulled out three glasses, a tin cup, and four mugs (their finest china) and poured from the bottle of wine that Eva had already opened. She took the drinks to the living room and returned to the kitchen to put the tarts into the oven.
“Who is she?” Bob asked, hearing her bustle.
“Oh,” Josie took a hand to her cheek, realizing she hadn’t properly introduced the diligent little woman to her friends. “She’s the youngest of my three landladies.”
“I like her,” Richard grabbed one of the mugs full of wine and offered it to Bob. “So unpretentious.”
“Isn’t she swell?” Josie grinned, brushing a tear off her face.
“She takes good care of you,” Russell put a hand on Josie’s leg.
Josie shared a thankful smile with him.
“She does,” Josie replied. She sipped the wine in her cup and proceeded to enumerate her landlady’s qualities with a swivel of her right hand. Russell nodded with every item she listed: “She cleans…she cooks…she serves wine…she mends my clothes. She is marvelous!”
“And her name is?” Bob Chatterton insisted.
“Her name? Uh—Hmm… Her name is…uh…” Josie took a second sip from her cup and rolled up her eyes trying to remember.
“You don’t know her name?” Eva asked.
Josie gave her a killer look.
“Yummies!” George interrupted.
The little woman had come back with a jar full of macaroons.
“Where did you have those hidden?” Josie asked.
“So tempting,” Richard said with a quiver. “But I can’t.” He pinched his belly. “Bob, you have one for me.”
Mr. Chatterton reached for one of the sweets, and so did the rest of Josie’s guests.
“Now, blow on me,” Richard said to Bob, “I want to smell them.”
Josie turned to the little lady, dropping the sound of her voice to a confidential level. “What is your name? I forgot.”
The little woman looked at the girl with a hapless grimace.
“You don’t have a name?” Josie asked, mortified.
The little witch shook her head.
“You don’t?” Josie kept whispering. “What have I been calling you all this time?”
“Delicious,” said Mr. Chatterton. “Homemade?”
&
nbsp; “She makes them herself,” Russell pointed out.
“They look so good,” Richard said.
“They are good,” George responded.
“They are awesome, man,” John exclaimed and insisted to Richard, “Try one!”
“I can’t,” the millionaire responded. “Ought to lose weight, for the wedding.” He pinched his belly. “By the way, where is my bride-to-be?—You have another one, Bob, you’re not on a diet, are you? I’m too beefy. Make space for the quiches, though. Are they ready? What did you say was the name of your little friend?”
What was the name of that French jazz composer, the one that Russell praised so much?
“I call her Dudu,” Josie said after the little witch returned to the kitchen.
“Dudu?” George repeated with surprise.
The name didn’t seem to fit the small woman’s figure.
“What a funny name,” Richard tried to suppress a giggle.
“Why, Ms. Dudu,” said Mr. Chatterton, next time the little woman came into the room, this time with a tray full of miniature tarts fresh from the oven. “Thank you for the food. Just what we needed.”
Richard smiled at the little woman. You remind me of someone I knew, he thought.
Master, the eyes of the little witch replied.
“Bob likes you, Dudu,” Josie winked to the little woman.
The name took our little friend by surprise. She turned back to see who she was referring to.
“He thinks you’re amazing,” Josie continued. “He loved your macaroons… Dudu. He may want to steal you,” she giggled.
You remind me of someone that I haven’t seen in many years, Richard continued. Your name is not Dudu, is it? Is this Antonia’s house?
The little witch nodded.
Are you one of Antonia’s daughters?
The little witch nodded again.
Holy scarapadampalous!
Holy, indeed! If throughout the last hundred pages you’ve come to suspect, dear reader, that there was something wrong with the eccentric millionaire that had befriended Josie, it is because there truly was: Mr. Richard Wehr, originally from the little village of Kaltensondheim, in West Germany, didn’t drink or have any food, nor did he reflect in mirrors, and had the extraordinary ability to communicate with his mind because he was a vampire. And no ordinary bloodsucking vampire, but the same one that had presented our ugly little friend at the baptismal font and had promised—and then forgotten—to take care of her religious education in the absence of her mother.
Love, or the Witches of Windward Circle Page 33