Trace of Evil

by Alice Blanchard

  Natalie held back for a moment, catching a few random phrases. She said. That’s like. Beyond bad. The rest of their conversation blew away in the breeze.

  This was one of the most popular places where tourists congregated in the fall to photograph the changing foliage and catch the annual Halloween festivities. A large, mounted bronze plaque commemorated the execution area—an engraving of three terrorized young women in shackles being led to their fate. The spot where they’d died was marked by a historically inaccurate depiction of three large wooden stakes, erected inside a replica of the original fire pit, which was ringed with blackened stones. The witches had originally been hanged, but it was an annual tradition in Burning Lake to build a bonfire on Halloween night in honor of the victims’ memories. Revelers gathered to watch the flames billow and dance across the lake. Some of the townsfolk wanted to put an end to the tradition, which they called barbaric, but they were overruled by the town council every year.

  The day before Halloween, three large stakes were pounded into the ground inside the functioning fire pit; then a pyre of wood was stacked around it; finally, three shabby mannequins representing the accused were placed on stakes. The “witches” wore cotton dresses, aprons, and old straw hats.

  According to legend, the children of the village were put in charge of building the pyre, while the accused were manacled and trussed to the stakes. The colonists waited until nightfall, when the flames could be seen from far away, reflecting hellishly off the surface of the water.

  Sarah Hutchins was twenty-eight years old when she died. Abigail Stuart was thirty-four. Victoriana Forsyth was seventeen. According to those who believed they were burned, you could hear their screams for miles around, and they died of shock and smoke inhalation before the flames finally engulfed them. It was certain they died agonizing deaths, as fiery cinders rose in the air and singed their lungs. The executions had taken place at the peak of autumn, when the woods were ablaze and the landscape turned into a conflagration of orange, crimson, and gold leaves.

  Nowadays, on Halloween, hundreds of locals and tourists alike gathered on the peninsula to build a traditional bonfire and hold competitions—the most authentic-looking mannequins won. Some of the revelers would toss pointy paper witch’s hats onto the blazing pyre. When Natalie was a child, she thought it was scary fun. But the weathered mannequins looked so sad, with their wigs askew beneath their cheap straw hats and their plain cotton frocks blowing in the breeze, revealing their plastic legs. They were bound with rope to the wooden stakes, and their manufactured smiles betrayed the genuine terror the real victims must’ve felt.

  Now Natalie took a deep breath and approached the girls, who were talking with a rapid-fire energy. They looked up, startled by her intrusion into their world.

  “Aunt Natalie? What’re you doing here?” India asked, exuding the delicate haughtiness that came from having so much luck—wealthy parents and good genes.

  “Ellie’s bracelet,” Natalie said. “How did you end up with it?”

  India was sucking on a lozenge. “Oh, that. She must’ve dropped it in gym class. We were going to give it back.”

  “Why bring it to the cabin yesterday? And what’s this?” She held up the evidence bag with the knotted piece of red twine inside.

  All three girls exchanged nervous glances.

  “It’s called knot magic,” India explained with a condescending smile.

  “I know what it is. Why were you girls doing knot magic with Ellie’s bracelet?”

  Without missing a beat, India said, “We wanted to cast a healing spell for Riley. And the scarabs represent immortality, so…”

  “So you were using Ellie’s bracelet to cast a healing spell for Riley Skinner?”

  “Yes,” she said, wiping a bead of sweat off her brow, while the sun’s reflection flashed across the lake. The sun was like an unmoving heart—bright, powerful, indifferent.

  “Why not tell Ellie about it?” Natalie countered, trying to remain neutral. “She thought it was lost. Why put her through that?”

  “Because, she quit the coven,” India explained. “She doesn’t want to hang with us anymore. I didn’t think she’d approve.”

  “So you just took it?”

  “We didn’t take it. She must’ve dropped it. We found it,” India insisted. “We were going to give it back.”

  “And you did this for Riley?” Natalie said skeptically. “I thought you didn’t like him, India? I thought he was your stalker?”

  Her eyes narrowed with indignation. “I feel sorry for him, okay? He’s in a coma.”

  Natalie pocketed the piece of twine. “What were you doing at Berkley’s house this past Wednesday between four and six P.M.?”

  There was a small commotion on the bench, a ruffling of feathers.

  “Girl stuff,” India responded with the emotionless demeanor of a practiced liar, or a child who’d never had to suffer the consequences of her own actions.

  “Watching Netflix and doing our nails,” Sadie added, coming to her friend’s defense.

  “And Riley didn’t drop by to see you that day?” Natalie pressed. “Are you sure?”

  “We already told you,” Berkley said with an unflattering scowl.

  Natalie showed them the evidence bag with the poppet doll inside. “Do you recognize this? It was buried in Ms. Buckner’s backyard. Do you have any idea how it might’ve gotten there?”

  The three of them grew still as dust, their faces flat and affectless.

  “I’ve never seen that before in my life,” India finally said.

  “Me, neither,” Sadie added.

  “Ditto,” Berkley said.

  “This is dark magic. Straight pins, knot magic.” Natalie held India’s eye. “Come on, India. I’ve known you all your life. We used to bake cookies together and play hide-and-seek at Ellie’s birthday parties. I’ve been to your piano recitals. You called me Aunty the other day. I’m not trying to entrap you. I just want the truth.”

  The other girls’ eyes burned with conflict, but India looked away, shutting down the conversation.

  “Can you help me out here, Sadie? Berkley?” Natalie noticed something poking out of Sadie’s unzipped JanSport backpack, which had fallen over on its side. Natalie’s heart raced. It looked exactly like Willow’s purple silk batik scarf, the one Deborah had taken to the trial with her. “Sadie? Where’d you get that?”

  “Get what?”

  “That scarf.” Natalie pointed.

  “This?” She reached down and snatched it. Something flickered in her eyes, and she quickly stuffed it inside her backpack.

  “Can I see the scarf, please?” Natalie insisted.

  “No. It’s mine. I bought it.”

  “Just show me the scarf, Sadie,” Natalie told her.

  “I found it at the Goodwill.”

  India took out her phone. “My father said to call him the next time this happened.”

  “Okay. I’m leaving.”

  Back in her car, Natalie willed her hands to stop shaking. Was it true? Had Grace donated Willow’s old scarf to the Goodwill? She tried to reach her sister at home, but the machine picked up.

  “Hey, it’s me. Call me back as soon as you get this. We need to talk.”

  Then she turned the car around and headed back to town.

  33

  Natalie parked behind the Burning Lake Police Department and glanced around at the cruisers with their two-digit numbers on the trunks—Cruiser 01, Cruiser 02, Cruiser 03, et cetera. A row of identical midnight-blue Ford sedans with TO PROTECT AND SERVE stenciled on the doors. They used to have a witch on a broomstick painted on the trunks until the chief put the kibosh on that little experiment. He thought it was tasteless, capitalizing on an ancient tragedy.

  Now Natalie sat for a moment, rubbing her exhausted eyes. She felt like a tightrope walker balanced on a tautly strung wire. Here she was, knee-deep in the case, and yet the frustration was hard to describe. It hurt inside her head, it hu
rt in her heart, it hurt in the roots of her hair. As a rookie detective, she’d been given full access to Willow’s archived file. The crime scene photos were particularly earth-shattering, all those chilling details. But it was Willow’s unseeing eyes that got to her the most—fixed on the overcast sky. You could see miniature clouds swirling on the lenses. It had rained that day, and Willow’s long, dirty blond hair swirled wetly into the grass and tangled around her porcelain fingers, making paisley patterns.

  Willow had always been a protective big sister with a mischievous streak. She taught Natalie how to spit down a well, how to pirouette, how to sing with a hairbrush, and how to sneak cookies when their mother wasn’t looking. Willow owned hightops in every color—pink, green, purple, red—and wrote messages in black Magic Marker on the white rubber fronts. She’d write There’s No Place on one shoe, and Like Home on the other. E.T. on one shoe, and Phone Home on the other. Bond, James Bond. Funny, how life gave you all these little moments, then pulled the rug out from under you. Natalie gathered her reserve energy and got out of the car.

  The police station was a hive of activity this afternoon. The assignment board was full of new cases—burglaries, shopliftings, bicycle thieves, drug ODs, fugitive farm animals, you name it. Just like any other midrange town, their department ran twenty-four/seven. They were often stretched thin, and the detectives didn’t partner up like they did on TV. Natalie worked alone most of the time, and her caseload was straining at the seams. She didn’t need another drop-everything case.

  She checked the board. Luckily her name wasn’t on it. She walked down the hallway and found Luke in his office. “Got a minute?”

  He leaned back. “Yeah. Come on in.” The sound of his voice soothed her brain.

  She sank into the only chair in his office that wasn’t stacked with paperwork.

  “How’re you holding up, Natalie?”

  “Terrified I might’ve missed something. Otherwise … overwhelmed, but things aren’t spinning out of control yet.”

  “Welcome to my world.” He picked up a bag of pretzels from his desk and said, “There’s bottled water in the fridge. Help yourself. Pretzel?”

  She fetched a bottled water out of Luke’s minifridge, unscrewed the cap, and scooped a couple of pretzels out of the bag, more out of politeness than hunger.

  “What do you have for me?”

  “Besides a killer headache?” She placed the poppet doll on his desk. “I found this buried in Brandon’s backyard. Lindsey Wozniak’s landscaping crew dug it up. Whoever put it there was hoping to cause major pain.”

  “A voodoo doll?”

  “They’re called poppets. This one is bound with twine and bent backwards, stuck with a dozen or more pins—which means it’s serious black magic. I’m pretty sure it’s a revenge curse. All that negative energy supposedly transfers to the target. You bury it somewhere on the property to maximize its power.”

  “The target, meaning Daisy?”

  “Looks like it,” she said. “Sewn up inside the doll was a red ballpoint pen and a torn piece of paper, just the corner. I’m assuming it was Daisy who was doing the grading, and she gave the student a B-minus. Whoever did this, whoever went to all the trouble of making a poppet and burying it in the backyard, was most likely the recipient of that B-minus.”

  “So this was a revenge curse?”

  “Or a death curse, depending on the incantation.”

  “And most likely, whoever made the poppet was an A student.”

  “Who else would get so upset over a B-minus? Riley sure wouldn’t.”

  “No, he’d be happy with a B-minus.”

  “But a B-minus could pull down a high achiever’s grade average.” She handed him the smaller evidence bag. “This is cord magic. Also known as knot magic. I found it tangled up in Ellie’s bracelet, and it’s identical to the one that was hidden inside the poppet doll. Same length and color of twine. Both knotted nine times. The knots are supposed to bind the spell to the target.”

  Luke nodded solemnly. “Lenny can verify if the two pieces of twine match.”

  “It would be significant. It would link the doll to India. She’s an honor student. A B-minus could’ve affected her grade point average. I followed India and her friends to Abby’s Hex today, but before I could ask her about it, she pulled the dad card.”

  Luke handed everything back to Natalie. “Have Lenny do a comparison test for the twine, and then process the rest for DNA, prints, and age. See what we can find.”

  She nodded. “Meanwhile, I’ll start a search of Daisy’s grade rolls for the current year and extrapolate which students received a B-minus from her. We’ll focus on India and her friends.”

  “Good.”

  She shuddered. “It’s a chilling thought. I’ve known these girls since they were toddlers.”

  He studied her closely. “Is this going to be a problem? The fact that Ellie and her friends might be involved?”

  “No,” she protested, feeling a swell of emotion in her throat. “Ellie knows I’m a cop, first and foremost.” But she was going to have nightmares about this.

  “Then you need to interview your niece as soon as possible.”

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “Meanwhile, India told me she used Ellie’s bracelet to perform a healing spell on Riley, but that’s complete bullshit. They wouldn’t need Ellie’s bracelet for that—they’d need something of Riley’s.”

  “So she’s lying.”

  Natalie nodded. “I think it has something to do with Ellie quitting the coven. Looks like they’re replacing her with a new recruit. Angela Sandhill.”

  He sipped his bottled water and asked, “When did that happen?”

  “When did Ellie quit the coven? The day after Daisy was killed.”

  “So there’s some connection, but I don’t see it,” Luke said. “Help me out.”

  “India’s been lying about her relationship with Riley. She claims he’s been stalking her, ever since they split up. But according to Jules, Riley is her dealer.”

  “Ah. And he was dealing on Wednesday afternoon.”

  “I think it’s possible he went over to Berkley’s house to sell India some weed.” She handed Luke another evidence bag. “This is Riley’s Samsung, as you know. I searched the digital pix stored in memory and found a bunch of selfies taken of Riley and India together, as recently as last week, and she doesn’t look the least bit intimidated or uncomfortable.”

  Luke swiped through the digital images. “So she’s been lying about it to cover up her drug habit?”

  “Maybe. I’ll have to have a heart-to-heart with my niece tomorrow, see if I can get to the bottom of things.”

  He pulled on his knuckles. “What was your impression of Ethan Hathaway?”

  “He was very cooperative, for the most part. Daisy ended the affair about a month ago. He doesn’t know if the baby was his. Daisy wasn’t sure, apparently. He didn’t seem fazed when I asked him to take a polygraph.” She glanced at her watch. It was 4:55 P.M. “He’s coming in for an interview at five.”

  “Do you think he killed her?”

  “He doesn’t have a solid alibi, and some of his answers were a little hinky—for instance, he accepted the fact that the baby could be his but didn’t ask for a paternity test. According to Grace, some of the women Hathaway’s dated found him to be antisocial and bookish. But Daisy loves to read, she loves books, and Brandon suspected she was bored with him, so … to each her own.” It sounded flippant, but she hadn’t meant it to sound that way.

  “Bookish people aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” Luke said.

  “Tell me about it.”

  He eyed her curiously. “You’re over that guy, right?”

  “Who, Zack?” She made a face, then let the seconds slip past. Their first night together felt like ages ago. In the middle of the night, she’d crawled out of bed with a craving for ice cream. They tiptoed into the starlit kitchen, giggling like children. Zack fetched them two mismatched s
poons and they leaned against the counter, watching the moon rise and eating Hood’s chocolate chip ice cream straight out of the carton. “Yeah,” she said. “It’s relationship roadkill.”

  He held up his hands. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

  “Jesus, you’re weird.” She laughed.

  “Why?”

  “‘Are you over him?’ ‘None of my business,’” she teased.

  “Are you mocking me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Because affectionate mocking is not allowed.” Luke had never liked Zack, which should’ve been her first clue, since Luke was an excellent judge of character. Now he took a swig of bottled water and loosened his tie. The world came alive and sparked inside his eyes. “I think we’re sharing a moment. Are we sharing a moment?”

  “God, you’re impossible.”

  When Luke was a scrawny kid, every single one of his T-shirts had holes or rips in them. His sneakers were threadbare. He couldn’t wait to get his driver’s license, and as soon as he did, he bought a beat-up Buick Skylark for $500 and got lost on the back roads of Burning Lake while blasting the B-52s’ “Dirty Back Road” on his crummy Radio Shack speakers. He was proud. He was vengeful. He kept score. He was a misunderstood superhero. He was Deadpool. He was Wolverine.

  “Anyway, I’ve kind of given up on love.” Natalie shrugged. “If that helps.”

  “No, it doesn’t help at all,” he said.

  She could feel the blood thundering in her ears.

  He was about to say something else when the phone rang. He picked up. “Hello? Okay.” He hung up. “Hathaway’s waiting for you.”