by Hannah Reed
“I just realized why you waited for me instead of going into Rosina’s apartment alone. You’re afraid.”
“At least one of us has a clear head,” she said, unzipping her jacket halfway and drawing out a DIY project. When Patti had worked for the newspaper, she’d crafted her very own press pass and wore it around her neck, even though as far as I know, it never gained her special access. This time she’d created another piece of neckwear by hanging a long, beaded chain with a large crucifix, the kind I’ve seen on people’s walls. She noticed me appraising it. “I made it myself.”
“Obviously.”
“I drilled a hole for the chain. It’s a little heavy but worth its weight in gold.”
“Since when are you the religious type?”
“Since I found this witch’s den and knew I’d have to go inside.”
It’s one thing to wear a cross as a symbol of love and sacrifice; it’s another to use it like a bulletproof vest to ward off people who are different. I’m not Catholic, but I can respect their traditions. As far as I know Patti isn’t Catholic, either. If she gets zapped by a lightning bolt, I just pray I’m not standing next to her.
“Keep your jacket zipped and the cross hidden away,” I advised, “or someone is going to try to take you in for a mental health examination.” And that somebody might be me.
We got out and approached the white Polish flat where Rosina had lived. Most visitors to Milwaukee don’t know what Polish flats are, because they aren’t found anyplace else. When our early Polish immigrants arrived, they often built small cottages. Some years later, they raised their homes on jacks and constructed apartments below in the partially sunken basements, which they rented out to the constant influx of more immigrants. “The downstairs neighbor will let us in,” Patti said, stopping at a door underneath the stairway leading to the top flat.
While we waited for an answer to our knock, I thought about Al Mason and how we probably were going through motions that wouldn’t change the outcome one bit. If it weren’t for the incriminating fingerprints on the dead woman’s pentacle, and if it hadn’t been discovered inside Al’s home, I would have said, “no way would he kill his own sister.” But I had to admit to myself that he probably really had killed her, and all our wishful thinking was just that. Wishful thinking.
The optimism I’d been clutching had all but fizzled out. What was there to find in Rosina’s apartment? Nothing, that’s what. Before I went totally negative, I found a ray of sunshine in the situation: It sure would be fun watching Patti squirm her way through a witch’s den.
With that pleasurable thought, the door opened and my glee evaporated.
Because it was Lucinda Lighthouse who frowned at me from the entryway.
It made sense once I thought about it. Patti had never shown her face around the witches, so Lucinda wouldn’t have had any reason to doubt it when Patti showed up claiming to be a niece. “You!” she exclaimed, still focused on me. “You’re the best friend?!” Then her head swiveled to Patti. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but it isn’t going to work.”
“We’ve met already,” I explained to my confused partner. “Hi, Lucinda.”
“We just need to pick up a few of the family heirlooms,” Patti explained.
“She”—here Lucinda made sure there was no doubt that I was the she—“isn’t going up.”
So Patti’s claim as one of Rosina’s relatives was still going to work.
“But, but,” Patti sputtered.
“Go on,” Lucinda said to Patti, moving out onto the porch and unlocking a door leading up to the second floor. “But I’ll have to inspect whatever items you intend to leave with.”
Then she stepped in front of me and blocked my path.
Patti gave me a pleading pout from the other side of the witch. Then, with her fist tightly wound around the cross, she started up the steps to Rosina’s flat alone.
Lucinda closed the door behind her and crossed her arms in a guarding pose. Then she said, “You are a busybody of the worst kind. Why don’t you get a life and leave us alone?”
Lucinda continued to stare, glare, and flare at me.
“I’ll wait in the truck,” I decided.
She didn’t discourage me.
While I sat inside the cab, Holly called me. “Mom’s moved up the wedding,” she said. “They’re getting married Tuesday morning. That only gives us the rest of today and tomorrow to get ready.”
“What? How is that even possible?”
“Story, Mom wants a quiet, small affair. Besides, everything’s pretty much done. Since the big event is at my house, and we aren’t dealing with a hall, the date is easy to move. And the minister, who could have been an obstacle, has agreed.”
“Why the sudden rush?”
“Mom wants to get it over with before Grams invites the entire town. They’ve been butting heads nonstop. And Tom’s been on her case for leaving to stay with her mother. Mom’s had it, and you know how she gets when she’s had it.”
Boy, did I ever.
“But what about the reception? All the food?” This was moving too fast. I wasn’t even sure I was ready on an emotional level quite yet.
“Milly’s on board, too, with the catering. It’s a go.”
“Fine with me,” I said, since my opinion didn’t count anyway. Then Holly was gone.
After that, I simply waited and thought about all the details leading up to this useless trip into Milwaukee. And about Greg. And Rosina losing her man and her life. And why in the world would Al kill his sister? Just because she had the nerve to show up in Moraine? I mean, couldn’t he have just sent her packing? Why lure her to the corn maze, stab her to death in his own yard, and hide a piece of her jewelry where someone was sure to find it? At the very least, shouldn’t he have wiped off his prints?
If it were me and I didn’t want to get caught, I wouldn’t have done it at the farm. And I certainly wouldn’t have taken a souvenir. Al had definitely been set up.
Think back to the very first day, I said to myself. Start there.
I’d been pleasantly surprised to find out that the handsome man over at Dy’s was a local I’d actually known from high school. Why, though, hadn’t Greg been around during the years since? Sure, he might have visited without stopping in town at the shops. And a lot of kids left Moraine for bigger and better opportunities, many of them never returning. I’d done the same thing for a while.
But wasn’t it a little suspicious that he showed up suddenly, after inserting himself in the middle between his dad and aunt? Then his aunt was murdered and his father is in a heap of trouble. Yes, Greg actually had a lot to gain.
Then there was the first witch meeting inside the store. Grams taking photos. I’d scrolled through them this very morning. Nothing struck me as unusual, a precursor to murder. There’d been pictures of garlic. Lots of black garb. A pentacle that I’d admired. A brief exchange regarding the number thirteen. My offering of Aurora.
Wait just one minute. I had something, a flash of insight!
Unfortunately, Patti appeared back out on the porch, interrupting my reflections. She looked nervous and her hands were empty. I rolled down the passenger window so I could hear the conversation between the guarding witch and Patti. “I didn’t find anything of value to the family,” she told Lucinda. “Thank you for allowing me up.”
Without a word in reply, Lucinda locked up the entrance to the upper flat, then vanished inside her own home.
Patti practically ran to the truck, leaped in, rolled up the window, and locked the door. “Not a single clue one way or the other,” she panted. “I risked my life for nothing.”
“It wasn’t for nothing,” I said to her, grinning.
And I really meant it.
Because I had a new question to answer and a new direction to explore, thanks to the short
but fruitful opportunity for a quiet review of that very first day when the witches had come to town.
As I pulled away from the curb, I pondered silently, Who in the world was Rosina talking to on the phone the day the witches stopped at The Wild Clover?
• • •
All the way back to where we’d left Patti’s car parked on Brady Street, she badgered me. “What’s with the happy face? What’s going on? Are you keeping things from me?” It was like the woman had a direct connection right into my brain.
So I filled her in on my first meeting with the women and finished with, “Rosina thought she had someone lined up to make the numbers work. Only the other woman canceled at the last minute. That’s why Aurora ended up joining the group as a substitute. Would you look up the number for Dyanna Crane? I need to speak with her.”
Unfortunately, Dy wasn’t able to supply me with a name. “All I know is that Rosina assured us that she had a witch who was experienced and willing, someone she had met online and hit it off with. Then at the last minute the person backed out.”
“But who was it?” I asked. “I need the name of the woman.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Uh . . .” What could I say? Nothing came to mind, so I said, “Greg asked me . . .”—here I got the evil eye from Patti for not including her—“. . . to do a little digging and maybe clear his dad.”
“Poor Greg. He’s having a hard time accepting this.”
“So who did Rosina call from my store?”
“Sorry. I can’t help you.”
By now we were idling in a no-parking zone behind Patti’s antenna-covered car. I disconnected, convinced that Rosina had been talking with witch number thirteen that first day in my store. Could it have been Iris? I had to chuckle at that. Somehow I couldn’t imagine Iris in that role. Besides, Dy said she met this other woman online. Rosina had known Iris her whole life.
“Did you see a computer inside the house?” I asked Patti.
“A laptop on the coffee table.”
“Perfect.”
“Why?”
“I want you to stick around Milwaukee,” I told Patti. “Watch for an opportunity to get back inside.”
My big, bad partner groaned and whined, “Do I have to?”
I nodded. “You’re the expert on picking locks. I need you to bring me that laptop.”
“You want me to steal it?!”
“The word you’re looking for is borrow, not steal. We’ll put it back.”
“You mean I’ll have to put it back.”
“Semantics, Patti. It’s simply how you look at things.”
But of course that was exactly right.
“What are you going to be doing,” Patti said, “while I’m putting my life and freedom on the line—once again, I should remind you?”
I could have told her the truth, that I would be taking a nap with Hunter, but that wouldn’t have gone over very well.
Patti would never, ever understand.
• • •
While driving back to Moraine, I called Greg Mason. “Have your aunt’s things been released yet?”
“What things?”
“Whatever she had on her person that night.” I hated to ask Greg, since he was on the suspect list, but he was the only family member available and the only one legally authorized to retrieve her belongings.
“I haven’t thought about it,” he answered, “what with my dad in jail. Why?”
“I’ll find out. You might have to go get them. It might be important.”
“All right, let me know.”
There! Let’s see what he’ll do with that.
It was a long shot, might amount to nothing, probably would amount to nothing, but it was all I had. If her laptop didn’t reveal anything new and the identity of the woman on the other end of Rosina’s phone call dead-ended, at least I would have given it my best.
Hunter was waiting for me at home. Our nap was everything I’d imagined. Not only did I get a healthy dose of togetherness, but I also managed to learn that Rosina’s belongings had been cleared and her family was free to pick them up at their convenience.
And yes, her cell phone was one of the items.
“Now come here, babe,” Hunter said, “and let me fall asleep with you in my arms. Shut those big, beautiful eyes.”
Life doesn’t get any better than that.
Thirty-one
Daylight savings time is always a huge personal adjustment for me in the fall. For the last few months of the year it will be dark enough to need indoor lighting at four thirty every afternoon. By five the sun (if it even bothers to shine at all) drops over the horizon and long, cold nights descend on us. Then by the time I finally adjust to the short days, February arrives with its “ray” of hope for future warmth, enough anyway to keep me going just a little longer.
Many Wisconsinites have seasonal affective disorder and need artificial sun treatments to cope, but as a grocery store owner with early opening hours, I’m relieved that I don’t have those wintertime mood swings.
So by the time Ben woke me from my nap with a nose nuzzle, indicating that he could use a pit stop, daylight had already disappeared. He nudged me again. Why always me? Isn’t he Hunter’s companion and partner? Why does Ben come to me every time he needs to go outside? Probably because I actually tune in to his needs in a way a man doesn’t. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, rose, pulled on my robe, turned on a few lights, and let Ben outside to go about his business.
A little later Hunter came out of the bedroom fully dressed and looking like he was ready to conquer the world. It’s amazing how a nap can refresh a person. He pulled on his leather jacket. “I have to check in with the department,” he said. “I’m taking the Harley.”
“It’s freezing outside,” I had to mention, even though I know my guy will ride his bike in weather much colder than this. He shrugged.
“Take good care of Ben, okay?” Hunter said after giving me a passionate kiss and grabbing his helmet.
“Don’t I always?”
“Mostly he takes care of you.”
Which was sort of true. Ben has saved my butt more than once in the past. I trust him almost as much as my man. First because of his size. The beast is seriously intimidating. Second because he’s smart, intuitive, ultra brave, and loyal to a fault.
Hunter went out, and Ben came back in. He plopped down in the entryway and washed his paws. I called Greg and asked him to pick up his aunt’s things. If it was convenient. I asked nicely but was ready to get firm and insist, if necessary, but it wasn’t. Greg agreed to stop by afterward. I lured him with a promise to share new information with him when he arrived.
I wasn’t one bit worried about being alone with Greg. Because I wasn’t. Tonight Ben would watch my back instead of Hunter’s.
Doing a little calculating, I guesstimated how long Hunter would be gone—an hour for the round trip into Waukesha, at least another hour inside the cop shop, then probably a stop at Stu’s Bar and Grill. (Hunter wasn’t a drinker but he sure liked the socializing part of bellying up to the bar.)
Not that I was sneaking around behind his back or anything. Okay, maybe a little. I justify my secrets by believing that Hunter has some of his own. Nothing that would harm our relationship, of course, that was a given, but we didn’t have to share every single little detail. A little mystery was sort of spicy.
Should I call Patti and find out if she’d been successful in her heist?
No, I decided. If she was in the middle of a burglary and had forgotten to turn off her phone, that would not be a good thing. Maybe in an hour or so she’d contact me.
I’d barely had time to ditch the robe and pull on jeans and a sweatshirt before Ben let out a soft-spoken throaty warning that indicated someone was outside my house. Sure enough, seconds later the b
ack door buzzer rang. Ben stood up, alert, prepared for anything.
Greg Mason was at the door right on schedule.
I went through the necessary motions of introducing Ben to Greg. Only then did my protector stand down from orange alert. What an amazing canine! And to think I would have been scared to death of Ben in the past. These days he’s one of my best friends.
“Dad’s business made it through the weekend without taking a financial hit,” Greg said when we were seated at the kitchen table sampling a little of some of last year’s honey wine. This batch of mead had turned out really well, with a hint of cinnamon, cloves, ginger, and cranberry juice, squeezed from northern Wisconsin cranberries. “But we don’t know what next weekend will bring.”
“The community is behind Al,” I told him with a bunch of confidence I didn’t feel. After Lori’s gang had gone out to the farm, and I’d overhead them casting blame all over the place, who knew what my customers would come up with in the end. “And tourists from Milwaukee and Waukesha will continue to visit just like always. How is Joan taking all this?”
“She’s upset and doesn’t know what to think.”
“Is she standing by your dad?”
“I guess. She’s still going to help with the business.”
That was a good thing. Al didn’t need his girlfriend bailing on him at a time like this. His arrest had really affected Joan. The poor woman; first, a widow, then involved with a man accused of murder. Hopefully, Al would be a free man very soon.
With that, I moved on to the business at hand. “Did you pick up your aunt’s things?”
“Yes. I have Aunt Claudene’s cell phone.” Greg dug it out of a pocket and placed it on the table under his palm.
“Let me see it,” I said, trying to play it cool, but hearing the excitement in my voice.
“Why?”
I glanced over at Ben, who had his head down between his paws, but his eyes were alert.
What should I tell Greg? Why not start with the truth and see where it leads?
No way was I starting at the very beginning of this tale and relating every single tiny detail, though. It would take all night, and I didn’t have all night. So I kept on topic. Just the store part when I’d first met them.