1 Death Warmed Over

by Kent Holloway

  Becca returned her attention to the road, letting his words sink in. A few minutes later, she turned into the Sand Castle Condominiums and made her way around the winding parking lot until she came to the building with her victim’s unit. She parked her patrol car, reminded herself to breathe, and got out.

  She’d parked beside the patrol unit guarding Alvarez’s home and, the moment she stepped out of the car, she was met by Officer Tim Sharron. Sharron gave Silas a strange look when he got out of the passenger seat, then glanced over at Becca.

  “Long story. Don’t ask,” she responded to his unspoken question. “How’s the scene holding up?”

  “It’s been quiet,” he said. “Haven’t seen anyone approaching her place since I got here.”

  “What about the back entrance?”

  He shook his head. “Of course, I can’t watch the front and the back at the same time. But I’ve made random patrols around the property. Haven’t seen anyone except other residents leaving, heading for work.”

  She smiled at the officer. “Good job. Especially with making your patrols random.”

  Sharron, who’d only worked for the department a year now, beamed at her praise. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She patted him on the shoulder. “Stick around, Tim. We’re going to look inside. If there’s trouble, I’d appreciate the backup.”

  “Want me to go in with you?” He kept staring at Silas Mot with wary eyes. There was just something about the guy that put everyone on edge.

  “Nah, I’ll be fine. Just stay sharp and come if I call.”

  He nodded, then climbed back into his patrol car.

  Without acknowledging Silas, she began walking toward building D, and looking for unit number 14—Alvarez’s condo. A few minutes later, she caught sight of it and veered in its direction.

  “So, what exactly are we hoping to find here, Chief Cole?” Silas asked, breaking the short reprieve she’d been enjoying from having to speak to the crazy man.

  “It’s just a good place to start, that’s all.” She approached the front door and tried the door knob. It was locked. “Right now, we don’t know a lot about our victim. We don’t know where she died either. The body had obviously been moved onto the beach by the killer. So, her place might give us the clues we need to continue with the investigation.”

  “And you won’t need a warrant to enter her property?”

  “It’s not hers. She was just renting the place.” She retrieved her cell phone from her pocket, searched Google for the property manager’s phone number, and dialed it. A short conversation later and she hung up. “Property management is contacting the condo’s owner. He lives close by. They said he should be here in five minutes to let us in. If he gives us permission, there’s no need for a warrant.”

  “Ah! Very enlightening.”

  She pulled her notebook from her pocket and pretended to be reviewing her notes to avoid any more conversation with the strange man. For his part, Silas withdrew another Warhead candy—the crinkling of the wrapper threatening to shatter her last nerve—and plopped it in his mouth for another display of blissful pucker-face.

  She flipped through the pages of her notebook with an angry flourish, hoping her new partner would get the hint. But he appeared oblivious to her irritation and began humming a strange tune that sounded like an old Irish ballad she’d heard at a funeral when she was a kid. She rolled her eyes.

  It’s only around ten in the morning and I already need a drink. This guy is going to put me in the looney bin.

  She was about to ask him to stop his humming when a bright red Mini-Cooper pulled into the parking lot beside her car. A moment later, a portly young woman wearing a pair of leopard print leggings and a black sports bra two-sizes-too-small climbed out from behind the wheel. The woman’s hair, short and poufy, was professionally colored as red as her vehicle. Her face—thick with makeup—revealed worry lines creasing her brow when she noticed the police car and then Chief Cole standing near Andrea Alvarez’s door. The newcomer rushed toward them, a set of keys in her hands.

  “What’s going on?” she asked when she was within earshot. “Is Andrea okay?”

  Becca stepped forward, blocking the woman from the front door. “Sorry, are you the owner of the condo?”

  The redhead shook her head. “No. Just Andrea’s best friend.” She looked from Becca to Silas. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

  The chief recognized the woman from around town, but she’d yet to learn her name. In her line of work, most of the time, that was a good thing. In situations like this, however, it made things a little awkward.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not at liberty to talk about it just yet.” She withdrew a pen from her shirt pocket. “Can I ask you your name?”

  The woman nodded. She was visibly shaking. Her thick mascara now ran in streaks down her cheeks. She was definitely concerned. I wonder why.

  “S-sure,” she said. Her voice trembled. “Ceci. My name is Ceci Palmer. Like I said, I’m Andrea’s best friend. Is she okay? She’s not dead, is she?”

  “Well now, Ms. Palmer” Silas said. He leaned toward her like a famished predator, arms behind his back. His gleaming teeth reminded Becca of those of a hyena. “Why on earth would you ask something like that?”

  The woman blinked at him, then turned to Becca. “B-because…” She wiped away a tear and sniffed. “Because of the Death Curse.”

  Silas seemed to go rigid at the proclamation, though Becca couldn’t blame him. In all her years as a police officer, she’d never come across a statement like that.

  “Death curse?” she asked.

  Ceci Palmer nodded. “Yeah. She’s been worried sick about it for weeks. We all have. When I saw your police cars here, I just assumed the curse finally got her.”

  Becca decided to shelve talk of a curse until they could get inside to look the place over. “And why exactly were you coming by here today? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  The rotund redhead shook her head. “I d-don’t mind at all. I came to pick her up for the gym. We have spin class today.”

  Becca glanced over at Silas, who was eyeing the woman with deep suspicion. She then looked down at her watch. The landlord was taking his sweet time getting here to let them in.

  “Do you have keys to get in?” the chief asked, gesturing with her thumb to point at the door behind her.

  Ceci’s tear-streaked face nodded. She held out her set of keys in shaking hands.

  Becca took the keys. “Don’t go anywhere, Miss. We still have questions. And I’d like to hear more about this death curse you mentioned.”

  Another nod.

  Becca then turned to the front door and riffled through the keys until she found the one that fit the lock. She gave it a quick turn and the door opened with a twist of the knob. She took a single step inside and jerked to a surprised halt. A ghastly visage, hidden within the shadows beyond the door’s lintel, stared at her from a pedestal about waist high. A second later, she realized the macabre thing was a statue of some kind—a large oval stone with a face made out of sea shells.

  “That’s Echu Eleggua,” Ceci said from just outside the door. “One of the Orisha Warriors of Santeria.”

  Becca glanced back at the woman. “Excuse me?”

  “Santeria, Chief Cole,” Silas whispered in her ear. “Our connection to the Ebo knife.”

  “Andrea practiced Santeria.” She pointed at the Mr. Potato-Head-like statue. The thing sat in a bowl filled with small pebbles, assorted hard candies, and a plastic child’s whistle. “I’m not really sure of all the ins and outs of her religion, but she told me that the Orisha Warriors were supposed to be placed at the entrance to the house to keep out evil spirits. Eleggua was supposed to be the keeper of the door.”

  On the right side of the door, resting on another pedestal was a medium-sized iron cauldron with several iron spikes placed within. Next to it was a third pedestal with what looked like an iron tripod connected by a c
hain at the base.

  “The pot, I believe, represents Ogun, the master of all metal. Where Eleggua opens and closes doors, Ogun keeps things at bay.” Ceci had slid into the condo past Silas and pointed to the tripod. “And that thing…Andrea told me it’s supposed to represent a crossbow. It’s the sign of Ochosi, the hunter. My understanding is that if someone keeps these avatars at their door, it would keep the evil spirits or curses away.”

  Silas nodded. “I know these guys,” Silas said to Becca. “Interesting fellows, each of them. Though they tend to cheat at cards.”

  The two women blinked at him, then Ceci returned her gaze to the Orisha statues. “There’s a piece missing.” She pointed to an empty pedestal tipped over on the ground beside the Potato-Head stone. “Osun is supposed to be there. It looks kind of like a silver trophy with a rooster on top. I think it represented Andrea herself…her well-being. Legend said that if your Osun falls over, you’re in danger.” Ceci paused as if thinking about her last statement, then gasped. “Andrea!”

  Before Becca could react, the portly redhead bolted up the stairs of the condo. A moment later, there was a gargled yelp. Becca and Silas ran upstairs and found her in what appeared to be the master bedroom. A nightstand and lamp had been overturned. Strange symbols, similar to those scrawled on Andrea’s body, were marked in red on the vanity mirror to their right.

  Ceci stared at the bed, which didn’t appear to have been slept in recently. She pulled her hand over her mouth to stifle a gargled cry. “Where…where is she? Where’s Andrea?”

  Becca placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Honey, I’m afraid we need to talk.”

  6

  “The beach?” Ceci asked, blowing her nose into a tissue as she and Becca sat downstairs on Andrea’s couch. The landlord had already come and gone, leaving the keys with the police chief. The sheriff’s office’s CSU was currently upstairs processing evidence in the victim’s bedroom. And Silas busied himself in the kitchen, boiling a pot of tea. “What was she doing at the beach? She was supposed to be here.” She sniffed. “I mean, she only left her house to go to work and that was pretty much it. She was too scared to go anywhere else.”

  Becca could only shrug in response. “I’m not sure why she was there. Right now, it looks like she was left there by her killer.”

  “And you said you found a knife in her back?”

  “A dagger. Looked ceremonial.” She gestured toward the kitchen entrance. “Mr. Mot believes that the knife has something to do with those Osh…Och…”

  “Orisha!” Silas shouted from the kitchen.

  “What he said.” Becca scribbled the strange word down in her notepad. She wouldn’t forget it again. “So, what can you tell me about this curse you mentioned earlier?”

  “The Death Curse.”

  “Yes.”

  Ceci dabbed her eyes with a tissue. A glob of black eyeliner came with it when she pulled it away. “It’s a pretty well-known story now. The Chronicler ran an article about it. Apparently, Spenser Blakely’s on a crusade to clean up all this black magic stuff from Summer Haven.” She looked up at the chief. “You didn’t read it? It was on the front page of last Sunday’s edition.”

  Silas appeared in the living room, carrying two cups of steaming hot tea resting on saucers. He placed them on the coffee table in front of the ladies and went back to the kitchen to retrieve his own cup.

  “You know this might be a crime scene, right?” Becca said to him. “Not the brightest move making tea right now.”

  “Nonsense.” He strode back into the room with that infernal grin plastered on his face and began strolling around the room while sipping from the teacup. He stopped near the sliding glass door and examined the photos of family and friends that hung on the wall. “The kitchen is clean of any and all forensic evidence. I carefully examined it myself. Only thing in there is a wedge of cheese and an empty bottle of wine on the countertops. And I didn’t touch either of them.” He looked over at Ceci and pointed at the pictures. They all seemed to be focused around that of a young boy—ranging in age from an infant to around four years old. He pulled one of the pictures off the wall and showed it to Ceci.

  “Who’s this?” he asked.

  “Once again…crime scene!” Becca glared at him. “Stop touching stuff.”

  He rolled his eyes, then placed the photo back on the shelf. “My apologies, Chief Cole.” He pointed at the kid in the picture. “I’m just curious about who he is. He seems pretty important to Ms. Alvarez.”

  Ceci nodded. “That’s Jamie. Andrea’s son. He lives with his dad in Hammock Dunes,” she said. “Poor boy has a pretty serious form of autism and can be a handful. Because of Andrea’s history of mental illness, she figured he was better off with James, his father.”

  Becca shot Silas a look, warning him not to interrupt the interview again, but he merely waved her off before returning his gaze to Ceci. “Thank you. Now, about this curse…and the man’s crusade you mentioned.”

  Ceci nodded. “Well, there’s a pretty high concentration of Hispanics living on the outskirts of town. Andrea herself was from Bogota before she moved here as a teenager.” She took a sip of the tea. The cup clattered against the saucer as she set it back down, a clear indication of just how bad her hands were shaking. “Anyway, with this influx of Hispanics, there also came quite a few people who practiced Santeria.”

  “Santeria,” Becca said. “Now, that’s like voodoo, right?”

  Ceci shook her head. “That’s a misconception. Truth is, while they apparently share origins that come over from Africa, Santeria is predominantly practiced by Hispanics. They have a whole other set of rules, gods, and rituals.”

  “Okay. So, Spenser Blakely ran a piece on all this?” Becca asked.

  Ceci nodded.

  “Excuse me,” Silas said. He’d now moved over to an old travel chest in one corner of the room and was peering inside. “Who’s Spenser Blakely exactly?”

  “He’s the owner, publisher, editor, and chief reporter of our town’s newspaper, The Summer Haven Chronicler,” Becca explained. “But I’ll be honest, I rarely ever look at it. It’s much faster to find my news on Google.”

  “Yeah, Spenser was kind of upset when he heard the news about Andrea’s curse,” Ceci said. “That’s when he decided to expose the religion—against Andrea’s will—in an article.”

  “So, Blakely knew Andrea?”

  “She worked for him. Did the occasional graphic design job for him.”

  Becca thumbed through her notes. “But I thought she worked for Tate & Neely, the big advertising agency in the city.”

  Ceci nodded. “She did. That was her full-time job. She just worked for Spenser on special projects and such.”

  “I’m more curious about this curse you keep referring to,” Silas said, crouching down for a closer look at the chest. He reached inside, moving a few things around before stopping suddenly. His eyes widened for the briefest of seconds, then he turned and looked at Ceci. “Sorry. Tell me about this curse. Specifically.”

  “Oh, yeah. That.” Ceci placed the cup down on the coffee table and rubbed her hands. “Happened a few weeks ago. She and her Santero apparently got into an argument after a ceremony.”

  “Santero?” Becca asked.

  “A priest of Santeria,” Silas explained.

  “Yeah,” Ceci said. “Anyway, a few days later, she received a message from him saying he placed a curse on her and that she would be dead within the month.”

  “You’re saying this Santero initiated a Brujeria against her?” Silas looked over at Becca. “It’s a ritual of dark magic designed to hurt someone. And it’s not taken lightly. It usually takes a pretty big reason for someone to use that kind of magic.”

  “And Andrea believed this curse was real? That it would actually work?” Becca asked.

  “Horribly so. She was terrified. Even had to go see Dr. Fruehan to get her anxiety medication increased just so she could sleep at night.”

&n
bsp; “Fruehan?”

  “Yeah. Emil Fruehan. That’s the name of her psychiatrist,” Ceci said. “He’d made amazing progress with Andrea before all this happened. He’d all but eliminated her schizophrenic symptoms and her bipolar disorder had become well-maintained. She was like a new woman. Then this Curse business came and all that progress just flushed down the drain.”

  Becca scribbled down the information. She opened her mouth to ask another question when the sound of heavy boots coming from the stairs interrupted her.

  “We’re pretty much finished up there,” said the head crime scene technician. “Didn’t find much. No unexpected fingerprints. All the hairs we found seemed to match hers.” The tech held up a plastic bag filled with several pill bottles. “Found these in the medicine cabinet. Psych meds mostly. But they’re controlled, so we’ll be logging them in as evidence.”

  “Thank you, Steph.” Becca nodded to the kitchen. “Can you do one more thing before you leave?” She looked over at Silas and glared. “There’s apparently some wine and cheese in the kitchen. Any way you could take those too? Just in case.”

  The crime scene tech nodded, then set to work photographing the kitchen. Becca returned her focus on Ceci.

  “Ms. Palmer, I understand that Andrea had some kind of nervous breakdown a couple of days ago. Tore through a restaurant, raving about being chased by Death.” She glanced over at Silas and gave him a look to warn him from saying anything stupid. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “Not much. I was at home watching my boyfriend’s kid when it happened. I didn’t hear anything about it until the next day when Andrea called asking me to pick her up from the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” Silas asked. Becca cringed. She’d intentionally kept that piece of information from him. She was determined to hold as much back from him as she could until she decided whether she could trust him or not. The good news, to her, was that if he truly was the Grim Reaper, he didn’t seem to be omniscient.