Waking the Witch woto-11

by Kelley Armstrong

  Bruyn waved, like he couldn’t hear what the old man was saying, then turned and went back inside.

  “It’s a baby,” I said. “It cries. And right now you’re making a helluva lot more racket, so how about you shut it.”

  He gaped at me, then glowered at Adam, as if it was his fault for not keeping me in line. Adam rang the bell. The neighbor turned to head inside, then noticed a towheaded girl in pigtails coming along, holding the hand of a smaller pigtailed blonde.

  “You there,” the old man said. “Tell your mother—”

  “Zip it, old man,” I said. “Go back inside and get dressed before you get arrested for flashing little girls.”

  Adam chuckled and stepped aside to let the girls get to the door.

  “We were just ringing for your mom,” he said. “I think she can’t hear with the baby crying.”

  The older girl nodded shyly, eyes down. She tugged on the screen door. Adam held it open for her. The girl turned the knob, but the inside door didn’t budge.

  “It’s locked,” she said.

  “Mommy must be having her nap,” the younger one said as her sister rang the bell. “She takes a nap when Taylor does and she always locks the door. She usually sets her alarm, but if she’s really tired, she forgets.”

  “Do you have a key?” Adam asked.

  Both girls shook their heads. “Mom’s always home,” the older one said.

  “Can I try it?” I asked.

  The girl nodded. I cast an unlock spell under my breath and turned the knob.

  “Huh,” I said. “Must have just been stuck. Go on in. Tell your mom we’re here.”

  The older one glanced back to make sure we weren’t going to follow them. I let the screen door close. Inside, the baby’s howls turned to whimpers as she heard her sisters.

  “Mommy!” the younger one said, racing past her sister as she dropped her backpack. “We’re home! Did you make the cupcakes? My teacher said I need two dozen for the bake sale and—Mommy? Come on, Mommy. Wake up!” Giggles erupted, punctuated by squeaking springs.

  “Don’t jump on the bed,” her sister said. “Mom?”

  There was a pause, a long one, and my heart started thumping. Adam gripped my elbow, reassuring.

  The older girl ran into the hall. She saw us and started, like she’d forgotten we were there.

  “Is everything okay?” I called through the screen.

  “It’s Mom. She won’t wake up.”

  twenty-nine

  Tiffany lay curled up on her side, under the covers. Her younger daughter still stood on the bed, uncertain. She gave a tentative bounce, and for a second, I saw myself years ago, bouncing away as my mother sang, Ten little monkeys bouncing on the bed...

  My mom. Their mom. Oh, God. Please no.

  I touched Tiffany’s neck. She was warm, but I couldn’t find a pulse. I shook her shoulder. Her head lolled back, eyes still closed.

  I turned. “Adam—”

  He was already running back into the hall. “I’ll get them.”

  “Mom?” the older girl said, her voice wobbling.

  “She’s sick,” I said. Liar, liar. “Take your sister and—”

  I stopped. I wanted them out of that room. God, I wanted them out of that room. But I’d just been found over another dead body. I couldn’t stay in there alone. So I scooped up the younger girl and carried her out, motioning for her sister to follow.

  “Let’s get the baby, okay?” I said. “The doctor is on the way and your mom—”

  I stopped myself before I said “your mom will be fine.” I wouldn’t. When my mother died, they hadn’t told me for days, and that only made it worse.

  The baby was howling again. When we walked into her room, she was sitting up, face red, chubby body trembling with exhaustion.

  The oldest girl snatched a cartoon character pillow out of the crib. “She isn’t supposed to have that in bed.”

  I lifted the baby out. She stopped crying and peered at me through red-rimmed eyes. A hiccup, as if she remembered me. Then a wail. I wasn’t a stranger, but I wasn’t her mother.

  I motioned the older girl to the rocking chair and settled the baby in her lap as Bruyn headed down the hall. Seeing us, he stopped. The older officer, right on his heels, almost ran into him.

  Bruyn stared at the girls for a second, winced, then turned toward the front door and yelled, “Mom?”

  His mother hurried into the baby’s room, clucking and calling the girls by name. I slipped out to follow Bruyn. Adam came up behind me and squeezed my hand. We headed into the master bedroom.

  “She’s dead,” I murmured when I was sure the girls couldn’t hear. “I didn’t tell her daughters—”

  “Good.” Bruyn checked for a pulse. “Doc’s on the way. We’ll tell them she’s sick until their dad gets here. I’ve called him, but he’s not answering. Probably sees my number and figures I’m just harassing him.” Bruyn straightened and looked at me. “You seem to find a lot of dead bodies, don’t you?”

  Adam stepped forward, ready to snap something.

  I cut him off. “We just got here. You saw us coming up the road. I had an appointment. The girls got here right after we knocked. We didn’t go in before them. You can ask the neighbor.”

  Bruyn picked up a needle that lay beside an open Bible.

  So Tiffany Radu had killed herself ... right after I’d threatened her.

  “Did you move anything?” Bruyn said.

  I shook my head. Adam slipped out as I recited my steps. As I did my gaze kept going to that Bible. Its edges were so perfect it looked as if this was the first time it had been cracked open.

  I glanced down at the page. Exodus 22. Something about that twanged a memory. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been to church, but I knew that chapter. Why?

  “Looking for comfort,” Bruyn said, following my gaze. “She wasn’t a churchgoing woman, but people do that at the end, wanting proof they’re going someplace else. Someplace better.”

  When the doctor arrived, I went to find Adam. He was looking around the house. As we passed the baby’s room, I glanced in. My gaze went to that pillow on the floor, the one the oldest girl had thrown out of the crib. I paused, staring at it like I’d stared at the Bible, not quite knowing why. Adam didn’t say a word until we were halfway to the Jeep.

  “You had nothing to do with Tiffany Radu’s death,” he said.

  “Never said I did.”

  “But you’re thinking it. That woman didn’t kill herself because of any threat from you, Savannah.”

  “So it’s just a coincidence that she came home after a fight with me and committed suicide?”

  “She didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered.”

  I glanced over sharply. “What’d you see?”

  “Not a damn thing. Whoever did it was careful.”

  “If you’re trying to make me feel better—”

  “I wouldn’t lie to do it.” He took my arm and steered me around a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk, then motioned to the scratches on my forearm. “This woman confronted you in the middle of Main Street yesterday. Told you to stay away from her family and clawed you good. This morning she lured you into an empty building and knocked you flying down the stairs. Does that strike you as someone who’d run off and kill herself?”

  “She wanted to protect her family.”

  “By tooth and by claw, not by lying down and dying for them.” He unlocked the Jeep’s passenger door and opened it for me. “She was lying on her right side, with her left arm on top of the covers. When the coroner gives his report, he’ll say the injection site was on her left arm.”

  “So someone snuck in and injected her while she napped?”

  He climbed into the driver’s seat, keys in hand, and turned to face me. “The yard is fenced. There’s a doghouse, but no sign of a dog. No bowls, nothing. My guess is that it died recently. Maybe not a natural death. There’s a vacant house behind theirs, with tall hedges. Th
e killer enters there, hops the fence, picks the lock, and comes in when they know she’ll be alone and asleep. Her daughter said she always napped when the baby did. Someone knew that. Someone who knew her. Like her lover, who wasn’t at home when we got to his place.”

  “Alastair.”

  “That’s where I’m laying my money, but I’m not ruling out Cody either. Whoever killed Tiffany killed the others, too. She figured out that he killed Ginny, Brandi, and Claire and he realized she had to go-but quietly, so no one would connect the dots.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But Cody could have found out that she was the killer, and killed her quietly before she brought them all down. Or Tiffany’s killer could be the person who has been stalking both of us, related or unrelated to the other deaths.” I sighed and leaned back in the seat. “Aren’t clues supposed to eliminate suspects?”

  “So you agree that Tiffany was murdered, then?” he said, finally putting the key in the ignition.

  I hesitated. It made sense, but I wanted it to make sense.

  “I’ll wait to hear the coroner’s report,” I said. “But it’s a possibility ...” When I trailed off, he glanced over.

  “The pillow,” I said. “There was a pillow in the crib. The oldest girl said it didn’t belong there. I just remembered why. When Logan and Kate were little, Elena wouldn’t put pillows or stuffed animals in their cribs. They’re smothering hazards. Tiffany’s baby is a little old for that, but I didn’t notice anything else in the crib. Even if Tiffany did decide to start giving her pillows, that one was for decoration, not sleeping on.”

  “So someone put a pillow in the crib—Shit.”

  He didn’t say what he was thinking. I already knew. I could picture it, the killer standing over the crib, looking down at the screaming baby, pillow in hand, thinking the unthinkable ...

  As we waited to turn onto Main Street, a tow truck drove by. Hoisted on the back was a black BMW. My gut seized, and I stared after it as it disappeared from sight.

  “That Michael’s car?” Adam asked quietly.

  I nodded.

  “Okay, we’re getting you back to the motel. That’s enough for one day. Time for rest, dinner—”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I want to be,” I said, softly enough that I didn’t think he’d hear, but he reached over and squeezed my hand.

  “I know,” he said. “But let’s take a break from toughing it out, okay? We’ve done a lot this afternoon. Time to back up, give it time to gel, and plan our next move.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. A car honked behind us and Adam pulled onto Main Street.

  thirty

  Jesse was on his way back to the motel when I called to tell him about Tiffany. He grabbed takeout from the diner and as we ate, we talked about Tiffany. As with Michael’s death, he wasn’t convinced it was murder. If Tiffany found out her husband was the killer, it made sense to him that she’d end her own life rather than face the consequences.

  “Look at her,” he said. “Typical middle-class housewife. Appearances are everything. She couldn’t handle it.”

  I disagreed, but didn’t say so. After arguing that Michael had been murdered, I hated to sound paranoid.

  Jesse’s druid friend had gotten back to him. He was sure the ritual wasn’t druidic. So no movement on that front. What he did have was a lead on Cody’s illegal activities, but he wasn’t ready to share.

  “If I’m right, it’s the same one Detective Kennedy was following,” he said. “Which means I want to tread carefully. I’m pretty sure there’s a supernatural link, even if Cody isn’t it. I bet that’s what his wife was talking about—she was using her powers to protect or promote the business. Anyway, it’s pretty vague and you guys have enough to work on, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then I’ll take this, and when I have something, I’ll let you know.”

  * * *

  I WALKED JESSE back to his room and we chatted a bit. When I returned, Adam was stretched out on my bed, working on his laptop. He had a box of cookies beside him. Paige’s cookies and the commune ones. Paige’s were gone. I snatched up the others before he finished those, too.

  “You got your own box,” I said.

  “Yours was open. And I earned them. I found your druidic ritual.” He turned the laptop toward me.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yep. There’s a reason Jesse’s friend didn’t recognize it.”

  He motioned at the screen, which showed a scanned page from our personal database. I checked it out.

  “It’s definitely the same ritual,” I said. “Everything fits, including the sacrifice of a woman between her twentieth and thirtieth year.”

  He pointed to the label at the top.

  “A hunting ritual?” I said.

  “Yep. For boar hunting with spears. You dip the tips into the sacrificial victim’s blood and they’ll strike the boar in the heart. Not a lot of call for that these days.”

  “So it’s fake,” I said.

  “It looks real enough ...”

  “No, I mean it’s a red herring. Whoever killed those women wanted it to look like a real supernatural ritual. They dug up something so old that any supernatural investigating would know it was real, but would probably never ID it.”

  “Or a human could have dug it up from an old book and decided it’d be away to throw investigators off the trail.”

  “Sure, but my explanation is way more interesting. And speaking of interesting, I’ve been thinking about what Ginny Thompson was doing up at the cookie cult ...”

  * * *

  MY THEORY? BLACKMAIL. Someone might have commented on a resemblance between her and Alastair Koppel. She’d found out when he’d left town and put two and two together.

  Then she looked at that big farm on the hill and to her, it would seem palatial. Her daddy, who’d never paid a dime in child support, now living the high life with a harem of young women. He owed her, and she was going to collect, and if he didn’t like that, she’d tell his secret to the world.

  Or Brandi had pushed her into it. From what I heard of their relationship, that seemed more likely. It was Brandi’s idea, so she’d gone with Ginny to make sure she carried through.

  Blackmail was a good motive for Alastair not to call the cops. And a good motive for Alastair—or Megan—to kill the blackmailers.

  Adam had come to the same conclusion about why the young women went there. He wasn’t as convinced that it led to Ginny and Brandi’s deaths, but agreed there was enough of a possibility that we should get off our asses and head back up to that house for a chat with Megan.

  WE STOPPED AT the police station first. Adam went in alone to properly introduce himself to Bruyn, chat him up, put him at ease ... Somehow he thought he could do that last part better without me. Go figure.

  When he came out, he said, “Tiffany was injected in the left arm. And it was the back of her arm, which would be easy for someone else to do, but awkward to do yourself.”

  “They think it’s murder then?”

  He shook his head. “No, but when I raised the possibility, Bruyn jumped like a starving mutt at a hot dog. He smells Cody all over this ” one.

  “Good. That’ll keep Cody busy while Jesse investigates his angle.”

  * * *

  I WAS PERFECTLY willing to throw Adam to the guy-starved girls as a distraction, but he was having none of it. He wanted to snoop around the property on his own, so we switched seats and I dropped him off at the base of the hill.

  Once the girls realized I was alone, they were happy to leave me to Megan. And Megan was happy to chat. I think she found me interesting—more of a distraction to her than a cute guy.

  And I think the words Ginny Thompson’s late-night visit helped her decide she’d better talk to me.

  “We have an informant, I take it,” she said as we sat at the picnic table in the backyard. Her tone was light, amused even. I searched her face for
any signs she was covering a sudden panic attack, but she was cool as ice cream. Glass-shard-laced ice cream. Sweet and smooth and deadly.

  “Multiple ones,” I said, not wanting Vee to bear the brunt of it. “Seems some of your girls aren’t too comfortable with the lies they’re hearing, like the one where Alastair told me he never met Ginny or Brandi.”

  “Yes, they were snooping around the property. Yes, I lied and I’m sure Alastair did, too. We caught them ransacking our outbuildings, looking for our secret drug stash. A few weeks later, they turn up dead. Do you really think we were going to share that information?”

  “So why not call the cops when you actually caught them?”

  “We didn’t need that kind of attention.”

  “From what I heard, it was Alastair who said no cops.”

  She paused, then said, “Do you know where I grew up, Ms. Levine?”

  “No idea.”

  She smiled. “Liar. I’m sure you did your research. What it didn’t tell you, though, is the kind of neighborhood I grew up in. I saw a lot of Ginnys and Brandis there. I had some for friends. And one thing they all had in common? No one would ever call the cops on them. People told themselves they were doing those girls a favor, giving them a second chance. They weren’t. They were just teaching them what they could get away with. So, yes, I wanted to call the police. Alastair persuaded me not to.”

  “Because it would call undue attention to the group.”

  “Particularly so considering what they were looking for. People expect to find two things at a place like this: sex and drugs. But the locals have met the girls and they know we aren’t keeping sex slaves. So Ginny and Brandi figured we must have drugs. If those suspicions got out, it would plant a new seed in the townspeople’s minds—one that’ll worry them more than group sex.”

  Her explanation made sense. It didn’t mean it was the truth, of course. Megan wanted to protect her investment here. She knew exactly what to say.

  “I know why Alastair didn’t want to call the police,” I said. “He was protecting Ginny.”