Office Heretics (A Coffee & Crime Mystery Book 2)

by Nan Sampson

  "I'm betting you didn't."

  She groaned, unable to naysay him further. "Fine. I'll call. But if I wake her up, you're dealing with the fall out."

  "Great!" Charlie rubbed his hands together again eagerly. "Meanwhile I'll go break the laptop out of the special laptop safe."

  Ellie ignored him and pulled out her phone.

  Chapter 34

  Marg had found the card easily. Almost too easily, Ellie thought, which made her think that her employee had spent more than a little time in Ellie's office, rooting through her desk. But that was a concern for another day.

  Marg had snapped a picture of the card with her cell phone, and as soon as Ellie saw it she remembered it. It was on the cutesy side, and she remembered thinking even at the time that it wasn't the sort of card she thought Lacey would have sent. On the front was a little owl sitting in an old oak tree with a little word bubble above it that said 'Happy Samhain'. In the background, the black silhouette of a witch zipped across a full, yellow moon on her broom. Around the edges of the card were runic figures in black letters on a border of purple. Inside, was a rather insipid message: "Thinking of you on this most blessed of celebrations. Happy New Year!"

  Tired of trying to see the card on Ellie’s small phone screen, she made Ellie send the picture to Kate’s email address, so Kate could open up the picture on the big computer monitor in Dan’s home office. Her friend sat for a long time looking at the image. After a couple of minutes in silence, however, Kate finally threw up her hands. "Okay, I don't see a secret message here, do you?"

  Ellie had to agree. “Me neither.”

  Charlie came loping up the stairs with his prize. "Well?"

  Ellie gestured at the screen. "Here it is. Frankly, I don't see it."

  Putting the lap top down on a corner of the desk, Charlie peered over her shoulder. Ellie enlarged the image, so it filled the screen.

  Charlie studied the image longer even than Kate had. "Okay, so nothing just jumps out and grabs you. Maybe the message is in code. Did you guys tinker with any kind of secret message codes when you were in college? You know, simple substitution codes, number-letter scrambles, anything like that?"

  "You mean like every third letter is a letter in the real message? That kind of thing?"

  "Yeah." There was excitement in his voice.

  "No."

  "Jeez." He frowned. "What fun is it to be in a mysterious cabal if you don't pass secret messages back and forth, sticking them in the hole of an old oak tree for the other person to find."

  "We were in college, Charlie, not third grade. And we were actually pretty out back then, in terms of our faith, so we didn’t have to be all secretive. I mean, we didn't make a big deal out of it, or shove it in other people's faces, but the fact that we were Wiccan wasn't that big a deal."

  He gave her a look. "You know, you're really good at sucking the joy and romance out of these things."

  "It's what I live for." She gave him a scathing smile, the kind that used to send young men running for cover. "Okay, so this is obviously a dead end." She reached to turn off the monitor.

  "Now, just hang on. Give me another minute."

  Charlie stared at the screen for a long time, humming tunelessly to himself.

  Ellie reached for the mouse. "Enough. Charlie, I can't take your stupid humming, and we're clearly not finding anything. Let’s move on."

  He held up his hand. "The humming helps me think. Just give me another second. Here, what's this stuff around the outside of the card? It looks familiar."

  She looked at the little wiggly runes. They did look familiar, but she couldn't place their origin. "I don't know. Kate?"

  Kate leaned over Ellie's other shoulder. "Looks kind of like Theban script."

  Ellie bit her lip. The name was familiar, but she was still drawing a blank.

  Kate was nodding. "That's it. That's right. The Theban alphabet. Remember, Ellie? Witches like Alistair Crowley and his lot used to use alphabets like the Theban alphabet to write out their spells."

  It came back to her suddenly. "You’re right. Lacey used to like that kind of stuff. She'd write her spells on parchment paper, in her own blood. Damn. Like the note I found taped to the bottom of the drawer.”

  Kate grinned. “Remember she used to keep her B.O.S. in some magickal script?” Kate glanced at Charlie. “Whenever Ellie or I had to reference it for something, we could never read the thing." She gave a shudder. “Plus... blood ink. Creepy.”

  Charlie’s smile was triumphant. "Then that's got to be it! Here, Katie, give me a piece of paper and a pen."

  Kate scrounged for a minute, came up with a yellow legal pad and a pen. "Here. But I still don't think you're right. You can't go to the store and buy a card with a secret message encoded on it."

  "No but you can add one with some careful handiwork. First, let's copy this down, see if we can translate the Theban letters to make any sense. If not, then I'll concede you're right. But if I can, then we'll figure out how she did it later. The important thing is that she did."

  It was harder than one might have imagined. The letters were hard to read, especially as the image was not the greatest and to Ellie, anyway, the Theban script looked like so much scribble anyway, the letters formed to look a little like Nordic runes. Ellie squinted then rubbed her eyes. "It's too damn small."

  Charlie motioned her out of the chair took her place in front of the monitor. "Here, just give me a few minutes."

  Ellie scowled but relinquished her seat without a struggle. While Charlie was carefully copying the letters, she went over to the farthest bookcase that lined one wall and opened up the doors on the top, where Kate kept her books on Wicca.

  Pulling down an enormous tome with a soft cover by a popular Wiccan writer, she sat down on the floor and scanned the index. "Here, I figured it would be in this. We can translate now."

  Charlie frowned as he transcribed. "Good Lord. She wrote everything in this crazy alphabet? It must have taken her ages just to spell her own name."

  Kate leaned backwards against the desk. "Actually she was pretty good at it. I suppose it's like any other thing – if you do it enough, it becomes old hat. She could probably translate it quickly too, like you would reading a foreign language."

  Charlie finished and reached out a hand toward Ellie. "Okay, gimme that."

  Ellie shook her head. "No. You give me the pad."

  "Ellie, just--" He gazed down at her and she gave him another scathing look. She was not moving, she decided. She was too tired and besides, if the message was meant for her, she wanted to be the one to read it first.

  "Oh, fine." He tossed the pad to her and she snatched it up.

  It was a straight one to one correspondence, between the English letters and the Theban ones. If this was a coded message from Lacey, she hadn't done anything fancier with it because as soon as she was ten or twelve letters into it, sensible words were already appearing.

  She looked up when she finished. "Okay. Here's what it says: Under the oak, by the light of the moon, witches gather at Yule and in June. The Wheel turns, time marches on, cast circle, see sky, touch earth, and you're done. This charge be true and proper see, and as we will, so mote it be."

  No one spoke. Ellie read it to herself a few more times, but in truth it just sounded a lot like part of some solar festival, or some internet witches' prayer. If there was a message from Lacey to her there, she wasn't getting it.

  Kate yawned. "Sounds like it could have been written by the designer of the e-card. It might just be some kind of blessing."

  "Oh ye of little faith, Katie. I still say it's from Lacey. But I just can't figure out what she means. Ellie? Does any of that mean anything to you?"

  "Part of it is standard ritual-speak. This charge be true – that bit is sometimes used when cleansing an area. And the ending of that line, that's pretty standard stuff as well. A witch always ends her spellwork with something like So Mote it Be. It's kind of like Amen." She leaned back
against the bookcase, too tired to think anymore. "That's alls I know." She closed burning, bleary eyes. "I'm beat. Let's just call it a night. Maybe this will make more sense in the morning."

  "But... this could be our big break. You can't just go to sleep!"

  Kate patted Charlie on the shoulder. "Face it, honey. You're living with a bunch of morning people. None of the rest of us will have two neurons firing again until we've had our eight hours."

  Charlie looked like he wanted to argue, but finally relented. “Fine. Go. Sleep. Meanwhile, I'll keep trying to figure this out."

  Ellie didn't even have the energy to snipe at him. "Have a party. Just don't wake me if you have a brainstorm in the middle of the night." She took the hand Kate offered and hauled herself up.

  Kate leaned over and kissed Charlie on the cheek. "Try and get a little rest. We'll see you in the morning. And don't forget. The memorial service is at 11:00. You'll need to wear a suit."

  Charlie had pulled up a search engine and was busy typing something in. "Right. 11:00. Suit."

  "A shower and shave wouldn't hurt either."

  Charlie nodded absently and Kate took Ellie by the hand and led her down the hall towards the bedrooms.”

  "Do you need anything?"

  Ellie shook her head. "No. If you don’t mind, though, I’m going to take a hot bath before I crash."

  "Not at all. There's a box of lavender bath salts in the drawer. Help yourself. I'll see you in the morning."

  "Thanks." She gave Kate a quick hug. "And thanks for making all the arrangements. I owe you."

  "Nonsense. We owed it to Lacey to do what we could. You’re busy solving her murder. Next to that, putting together a memorial service is a snap."

  "I don't know, Kate. I don't get the feeling we're going to solve anything."

  Kate clasped her hands, forced Ellie to meet her gaze. "We’ll do what we can. That's all we can do. The important thing is that you tried."

  It had to be something she said to her kids, but it didn’t make Ellie feel any better. Nor, she imagined, would it make Lacey feel any better either. Still, Kate was just trying to help.

  "Good night, Kate."

  Kate gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Good night."

  Chapter 35

  Her dreams were a jumbled mess that night. In one she was back in college, hunting for a class in a building with dozens of floors and stairways that went nowhere. In another, she was ice skating on a pond. It was raining and a big sign said 'thin ice' but she skated on anyway, while a little nagging voice in the back of her mind kept telling her to stop. Those two, at least, made sense.

  The third dream that she remembered was something between a memory and a nightmare. She and Kate and Lacey were doing a ritual outdoors by the big oak tree in the forest preserve. Lacey wanted to do the ritual skyclad, but neither Ellie nor Kate wanted to do it that way. It was too cold. So Lacey was running around naked, making fun of them, telling them they weren't real witches.

  And then, suddenly, a tree branch seemed to come to life. It reached down and grabbed Lacey by the throat and started choking her. It lifted her off the ground, while she clutched at the black, leafless branch, her pale fingers scrabbling at the bark. Her eyes bulged, and fixed right on Ellie's and her mouth opened and closed as she tried to speak or call for help.

  Ellie stood frozen, unable to move, unable to help.

  And then it was over and Lacey was lying on the ground, arms crossed over her chest, eyes closed. Her expression was peaceful, as though she were sleeping.

  Kate was just standing there. "She shouldn't have been skyclad. She shouldn't have laughed at us. And she really shouldn’t have tried to kill me."

  Ellie knelt by Lacey's side. "Kate, help me. You know CPR, help me!"

  But Kate didn't move.

  Ellie felt for a pulse, got nothing. Lacey's eyes were now open and filmed over, like a corpse. Ellie swallowed a sob. “I’m sorry, Lacey.”

  Suddenly, Lacey’s gaze flicked towards Ellie. Ellie jumped back. Lacey winked. “Gotcha!”

  Ellie awoke with a gasp. It was still dark out, but she could sense that it was close to dawn. A glance at the bedside clock told her it was nearly six a.m.

  With her heart still hammering in her chest, she flung off the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She wanted nothing more than to go sit on her old beat up couch by the fire and snuggle with Erik.

  But that wasn't an option available to her at the moment. She paced for a moment, willing her heart to slow down and her breathing to grow less ragged. Then she went over to the window and stared out on a world hushed by gently falling snow.

  The Goddess, perhaps, weeping icy, frozen tears for one of her daughters, who now lay icy cold in a stainless steel drawer somewhere.

  Or rather, no. She'd probably be at the funeral home by now, getting ready for her big day.

  Still with one foot in her dream, she heard Lacey’s voice. “Gotcha!” Ellie shivered. Yeah, she’d ‘gotten’ someone. But who? Damn it, it had to be Lawson. The journal talked about finding something big at work. The only one who could have pulled off something ‘big’ was the boss. Ergo, Rob Lawson. But what was that ‘big’ thing? Damn it, she needed her sounding board. She needed Per.

  Sitting back down on the bed, she reached for her cell phone, then set it back down again. As much as she wanted to talk to Per, it would be cruel and selfish to wake the man from a sound sleep. Ironic that a year ago she hadn’t even known the man, and now she relied on him for her day to day sanity. She thought of her father and their discussion about Tribe. If Horizon was her tribe, Per was surely the Chief!

  Refusing to wallow in her loneliness, she jammed her feet into her slippers, pulled on her robe and padded softly down the stairs. Maybe a hot cup of soy milk and a little honey would relax her. In any case it would give her something to do, other than sit in her room and ruminate over her unnerving dreams.

  As she crossed to the kitchen, she noticed a light glowing from beneath the basement door. Could Charlie really still be awake or had he simply fallen asleep with the lights on. She paused by the door, listening, expecting to hear loud snores. Instead there was there was the intermittent, but quite recognizable sound of computer keys clacking. Figuring even Charlie's company was better than none at all, she opened the door and padded quietly down the carpeted stairs.

  The door to the 'guest suite' was open, but she peeked in first, to make sure he wasn't sitting around in his underwear or something. Seeing him clothed in the same outfit he’d had on the night before, she knocked softly on the door frame.

  He jumped, banging his knees against the keyboard drawer of the little desk he sat at. "Jesus H. Christ, Gooden!"

  "Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

  "What the hell are you doing up? I thought I wasn't supposed to disturb your beauty sleep."

  "And I thank you for that. But it's way past the time I usually get up for the day anyway. I came down for a cup of warm milk, saw your light on."

  "And you had to come down and stick your nose in my space."

  "Oo, aren't you the grumpy gus. So what are you doing?"

  He glanced at his screen, then quickly tabbed out of the document he'd been typing. "Just some stuff."

  "Aw, c'mon, Charlie. Writing the great American novel maybe?"

  He shook his head. "Not hardly. Did you want anything in particular? You won't find any soy milk down here, you know. I drink cow's milk."

  Feeling unaccountably hurt, she took the hint and she backpedalled through the doorway. "Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you." She turned and started back up the stairs, muttering aspersions under her breath. What an ass. It wasn't like she woke him up.

  If the rest of the house hadn't been asleep, she would have been tempted to slam the basement door shut. As it was she settled on mouthing a particularly scathing indictment of his character and that of his descendants, then headed off to the kitchen.

  It might be a while yet bef
ore the household was up – she'd warm up her soy milk, get her copy of Doreen Valiente - one of the original neo-pagan writers - and curl up in the family room for a nice read.

  It took only a couple of minutes to prepare her treat and retrieve her book from her room. She almost felt like she was stealing time, and somehow that made her little literary getaway that much more appealing on this frosty winter morning.

  She tucked an afghan around her legs and turned on a small table lamp, then opened the tome her friend Laura Lincoln had procured for her. It was old, but not so old that pages should be falling out of it, and yet as she cracked the book open to Chapter Three, which is where she had left off, a page did indeed fall out.

  She leaned out of her chair to rescue the page, nearly overbalanced and had to grab the chair of the arm to keep her from falling. With a grunt, she snatched at the page, but the flapping of the afghan created just enough wind to flip the paper out of reach.

  Flinging the damn afghan off her, she stood then spun as she heard a snicker. "Charlie? Is that you?"

  But the basement door was still closed, and she saw no one else in the room. Probably still spooked by her nightmare. With a frustrated grunt, she tossed the afghan on the chair and went over to pick up the escaped page.

  It almost scooted out of her reach again, but she planted her slipper on it to keep it from blowing further out of reach. She was in the doorway to the sun room now, and she could feel a cold draft coming from one of the windows that some idiot (whose name was probably Charlie) had left open a crack.

  Snow was starting to gather in the crack, so she swept it away and closed the window.

  With the page in her hand, she looked up and out the window, seeing the back yard as she'd never done before. It was a like looking into a snow globe. The snow was falling gently, covering the grass, the bushes, the tree branches. Straight ahead of her was a huge old tree, one which given the girth of the trunk, predated the whole subdivision, if not the founding of the suburb itself. It was an oak, and its branches, now fringed in magical white stretched across the whole yard in a protective embrace.