“Tell them to hurry up!” Mal bounced in her seat.
“Patience, you must have.”
Mallory snorted. “You sound like Yoda or maybe Eve.”
Kaden groaned as he parked. Mal made room for Kaden’s food and flapped her hands in a gimme’ gesture.
She opened the envelope. Kaden leaned over. There appeared to be some chemical stains on it. Although, this was a color copy, not the original.
“Well, do you think this will clear Star?” Mal asked.
Sylvia Broome,
This is your final warning to alight at midnight: You are not the rightful owner. Leave the Bible under the willow tree by the lake, or beginning with your favorite Star, your precious coven burns at the stake.
Sincerely,
W.H.O.
“Bible.” Mallory mumbled. “Why would they refer to Sylvia’s grimoire as a bible…unless she did?” Mallory pondered, reading the note two more times over. “Poor Sylvia! She went to her death, trying to protect Star, and Kaden, oh my gosh, this sounds like they were threatening to burn down the manor. And they made her think they had Star. What if Star is still in danger?”
“I doubt it, Mal. Remember, we have the Grimoire, so there’s no reason for Star to be a target.”
“Remember how much Poe wanted Sylvia’s secrets? Maybe he was the one to kill her. The book was found outside his door. Maybe somebody killed him for it after the fact, only they dropped it.”
Kaden shook his head and then took his last bite of his hamburger. “How would they know he had it? And anyway, the shoe print on Sylvia’s back belonged to a woman.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Smiling, Mal wiped his chin. “But I see your point, and anyway, I just remembered Lizzy said she saw it in Willa’s cubby before she found it outside his door. Do you think Willa is the killer? We really need to find her.”
He nodded his head, chewing. “Could be. It’s odd that she up and disappeared without a trace. We should look into this W.H.O. thing. Maybe she’s a part of it. Hell, maybe Edwin was acting the whole time, maybe he was a part of it too and infiltrating Sylvia’s world was part of it. He and Willa could have been working together. Crooks turn on one another all the time.”
THIRTY THREE
M allory had just come into the manor, when she heard laughter coming from the kitchen. She found Sera, Danior and Emilion circled around the island.
“What’s so funny?”
“We were just telling Emilion about the tape recorder tonight and how it almost backfired on Eve, literally.” Danior snickered. “I still don’t know what that was about.”
“It goes back to an old T.V. show, Mission Impossible. Well, you might remember the movie versions, but the show used a tape recorder,” Sera answered. “I love to watch old shows.”
“I thought it seemed familiar.” Mal smiled.
“We hate to break up the party, but I have to be up early,” Danior commented as Emilion grabbed her hand.
“I’m off to bed, too.” Sera yawned.
Mallory followed her. “Hey, Sera. I was wondering about something. You said you didn’t think your father had time to make provisions for you, but he willed the house to you. Doesn’t that seem odd? I mean why the house and nothing else. How did you find out about it?”
“My father’s lawyer contacted me. His name is James Hubbard.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“No, only phone contact.” Sera yawned again. “He said he’d been his lawyer for fifteen years prior to his death.”
“Okay, thanks. Have a good night.”
Mal continued up to the third floor and snuck into her room. She hoped Balthasar would answer her call. She was so torn over helping a man known for murder, even if he swore, he’d changed and wanted to know who murdered his wife. Did he ever think about the families of those he had killed? He did seem to care what happened to Sera, so maybe that was reason enough to help him. Well, that and she wanted him to move on. Plus, Mal couldn’t forget that he knew something about her dad.
“Pops!”
“Don’t ye be calling me that!” Balthasar bellowed.
“You let Sera call you that,” Mal said.
“Aye, but she’s family.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask for you to invade my life, so…” Mallory sputtered.
“Apologies, ye have been trying to help us,” he said.
Mal nearly fainted from the shock of an apology. “I’m sorry about earlier. It’s hard to help someone with your past.”
“I swear to ye, I did change. I loved my Rebekah and my sons.”
She nodded. “Yet today, you sounded proud of your kills, shouting the number was more than records indicated.”
His ghostly shoulders slumped. “Aye, ye have the right of it. It was wrong. Sometimes it feels like the old witch hunter in me comes forth when we speak of that time.”
Time to move on. “I need to make sure I understand. Your house was a wedding gift to your parents, so did you take possession of it?”
“It was passed to me on my father’s death, although I had to volunteer for the mantle of magistrate. When I met my Rebekah, I abandoned witch-hunting along with the house and my position as magistrate hoping to make a new life. I knew we would be pursued, so we traveled far into the forest where no one knew us. We were happy for a few years.”
This tied into her dream. Mallory stared at the floor. The whole era was heartbreaking. Was it possible that the boy he saved was responsible for the murders of Balthasar and Rebekah?
“I have a photo I’d like you to look at,” she said, holding out her phone.
“What devilment is this?” Balthasar questioned.
“It’s a cellphone. You talk to people or take photos. I’m not about to explain this to you, just look. It’s a photo of a painting done of you. I’d like to know what you remember about it.”
“I did not commission this!” Balthasar shouted. “What flummery are ye trying to pull?”
“What about this one?” Swiping to the portrait on the wall.
“Aye! I did sit for this. It took the man a blasted month!”
Mallory nodded. “I couldn’t understand why you would agree to a painting where your family was slain at your hand. That is you wife, isn’t it?”
“Aye, tis my Rebekah’s. How did ye do this?” Balthasar demanded, the drapes dancing.
“They’re both actual paintings at the historical society.”
“T’would be to discredit me. Mayhap it was used at my trial, not that I was in attendance.”
Mallory scowled. “That makes sense. So, they could say you weren’t able to ignore your witch-hunting ways and that gave you a reason to kill your wife.”
“Indeed!” As he disappeared, a tornado of emotion swirled about the room, knocking things over.
It was late, but Mallory felt compelled to see what she could find in the County Magistrates book she’d found at Sera’s. She heard a small thumping noise and a small gray head popped around the edge of the door. Bakalo blinked at her, then chose to saunter in at a supreme being’s pace and curl up on his throne AKA, her lap. She was delighted to find that the book was organized by property with a list of the owners and whether they were magistrates, so she flipped to the back and reviewed the index. As the first owner of the Witch House, she looked for Nicholas Remy. He was listed. Her heart started racing, she couldn’t flip the pages fast enough when she thought some of the answers she sought could be revealed. Mallory turned to the page. It had simply been called Remy House. Made sense. The owners were listed in order along with the years owned. Nicholas Remy was first of course, then his son-in-law Anton Popescu, next Balthasar Popescu. It showed a gap of several years, then Thomas Hobart. Mal shot up, sending the cat flying. Was this the boy in her dream? She needed to go back to the historical society to see if they had purchase records and any information on a Thomas Hobart.
Having made progress, she closed the book and snuggled into her soft
sheets with her favorite quilt tucked under her chin. Bakalo was next to her, all having been forgiven for the earlier displacement. Her eyes had just slowly closed when a glowing light appeared near her nose.
“Hi,” she whispered. Afraid it would disappear again.
It bobbed a greeting.
“I wish you could talk to me.” Still whispering. “Is it you, dad?” Mallory asked as a tear slipped down her cheek.
The light bobbed again, almost as though in answer. Then it flared and fizzled, and disappeared once again into the darkness.
Bakalo purred up a storm from his nestled nook at the back of her knees, comforted, Mal fell asleep.
THIRTY FOUR
M allory shuffled into the Vianu kitchen, following the scent of warm cinnamon sugar in the air.
“Is that what I think it is?” Mal inhaled.
“I thought you could use an old favorite this morning. You’ve been running yourself ragged, Malhala,” Nana said.
“I haven’t had baked cinnamon toast in years. Butter, cinnamon, sugar, bread. Simple, but delicious.”
Nana smiled, “Childhood favorites can be comforting, especially during times of stress.” Her face hardened. “Be that as it may, a murderer needs to be found. I’m afraid our reputation is going to suffer. BLPD is taking too long, so I think I need to get involved.”
Mal cracked out a laugh. “Did you become a super sleuth overnight?”
Looking at Nana, Mal now understood what a mulish expression looked like, although Mal still couldn’t imagine why others had mentioned seeing that look on her face.
“I’m sorry, Nana. I’ve been working on this every step of the way with Kaden and Cody. We have some new information that at least clears Star, but they are leaning towards Sera now.”
“That sweet little witch? How could they possibly think that?” Nana asked.
“Well, there are some disturbing coincidences, so I can understand them checking it all out. I don’t believe it though. Nana, I want to apologize for barely being around here to run things. I need to take the BFC out to dinner to make it up to them.”
“Oh, posh. They had the time of their lives, running around here like they owned the manor, knowing we’d get to deal with any fallout. Besides, the rest of us are capable of running this business. You are not solely responsible for Caravan Manor.”
Mallory frowned. “Speaking of people running around. What do you think of Lizzy? I’ve seen some odd things with her, but I don’t know if I’m oversensitive because of what happened to our last receptionist.”
Nana looked thoughtful. “I haven’t noticed any major problems. I caught her not working a couple of times, but other times she was working her tail off. She is new.”
Mallory nodded. “I’m glad you feel that way because I need to do some research this morning. I’ll try to be back by dinner time, so the remaining guests see the manager around now and then.” Mallory smirked.
***
Mal wondered what happened to the volunteers that usually guarded the entrance of Bohemian Lake Historical Society; most of the time, they were worse than junk yard dogs. She shrugged her shoulders, blessings and all that, and headed upstairs to Mick Spirit’s office for more research.
Was anyone here today? She wondered, entering Mick’s empty office. A snowstorm of paper scattered across his desk—at least she thought there was one underneath. She crept toward it and peered at the mass, maybe information she needed was at hand.
Behind her, someone cleared their throat. Mallory jumped.
“Mallory! What are you doing here?” Mick blurted.
Weird. “Hi Mick, you said you were going to look for the name of the magistrate who oversaw Balthasar Popescu’s murder charge and conviction.”
“Oh, right, of course. I found it.” Mick started rummaging through the piles. “Now where is it?”
“I found a Thomas Hobart was magistrate following a gap left by Balthasar, but I wanted to confirm with you.”
Mick snapped his fingers. “Yes, yes, that’s the name I found.”
Another tick in the right box, thought Mallory. “Is he the one responsible for Balthasar’s arrest?” she asked.
“Here it is, yes, he is. But that doesn’t mean he orchestrated the wife’s murder.”
“True, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t. I need to see if you have any purchase records for the Witch House or Remy House as it was called when it was built,” Mal said.
“You are truly in luck today, my dear. I came across those types of records in the archives the other day. It’s all in the basement.”
Mal grabbed Mick’s arm and started to drag him out of his office before she caught herself. Mick was Nana’s age.
“Mick, I’m sorry. Things are starting to fall into place. I’m a little excited.”
Mick chuckled. “It’s been a long time since I was led or pulled on a merry chase. No offense, but I wish your hot-to-trot-nana would take part.”
Eww. No mental images please. “How was dinner the other night?”
“Best night in twenty years! She didn’t curse me, so I figure I’ve got a shot if I take it slow,” Mick gloated.
Mal laughed. “Good thinking.”
He led the way into the basement. The card table was still in the back strewn with paper. Seemed to be a theme with Mick. He mumbled to himself, shuffling papers back and forth, so Mallory started perusing the shelves. It was much easier to see in the glare of florescent lights. She traveled beyond her initial tour, stopping in front of a large bin on a bottom shelf. Lying on the bottom of the bin was a crossbow. It looked incredibly old, there also looked to be a short length of rope. She was stunned. Was it possible? She leant back to see Mick still muttering to himself, so she touched the crossbow. Violence, but muted, possibly by age. She could see a strong hand, veins popping, with a heavy silver ring etched with a cross on the middle finger. Nothing else. Mal braced herself before she reached out to the rope, knowing it could be bad. Sadness hit her, doubling her over. Tears burned in her eyes, making her vision waver. Balthasar’s wife in the forest while picking herbs, a man’s scarred hands, he was alone. Rebekah wasn’t hanged but strangled by this rope.
“Mallory, sometimes the magnitude of what we have here at the historical society amazes me.”
Startled, Mallory quickly wiped her eyes before turning to Mick. “Did you find it?”
“I found the records for that house starting with ownership by Nicholas Remy. They recorded that he built it and it was owned free and clear. Rather progressive for that time. This document lists owners and how they acquired the property. Starts with Remy, who appears to have gifted it to Theodosia and Anton Popescu.”
“Theodosia was Remy’s daughter,” Mal added.
Mick nodded. “It was passed to Balthasar upon their deaths. There is a notation of abandonment. The next name is Thomas Hobart. He purchased the abandoned property at a discount.”
“Who sold the house to him? Balthasar was the rightful owner, so who had the right to sell it if it was abandoned?” Mallory questioned.
“It looks like the county officials did. Who knows if they had the right, regardless they sold it.”
“Do your documents show any other owners after Hobart?”
“Well, the next one listed is Hobart, Thomas Jr., who received it upon Thomas Sr.’s death at the age of fifty. It states that junior didn’t own it long, but sold it to a Theodore Popescu. It’s been in the Popescu family for the duration.”
“I wish we could find a painting of Thomas Hobart Sr.”
“Why?” Mick asked curiously.
“I would like to see what he looked like.”
“The purchase records have basic descriptions, probably for proof purposes. Otherwise, anyone could walk up and say they were Hobart or Popescu.”
“What? Let me see that!” Mal commanded.
Mick handed her the paper. There it was in black and white, well, yellow anyway. Thomas Hobart was a young man with white hair
and black eyes. She’d found the proof, with Mick’s help. Oh no, how was she going to tell Balthasar. It looked more and more like the boy he’d saved was responsible for the deaths of Rebekah and Balthasar Popescu.
Mal grabbed Mick and gave him a big kiss on the lips. Mick blushed. Kind of adorable with his messy white hair.
A high-pitched screech rent the air, only slightly muffled by the floor above. Mallory grabbed Mick’s arm and, as fast as Mick could manage, they hurried up the stairs. Mallory pushed through the basement door, which slammed back against the wall. She immediately covered her ears, the screech so loud that dogs within a five-mile radius would suffer.
Mal looked at the woman standing a couple of feet away.
“Hatti, what are you screaming about?” Mallory shouted. She glanced at Mick, who had stepped next to her, apparently use to screeching.
Hatti crumpled against the hall wall. Fanning herself. “Oh, Mallory, it’s you. I thought the thief had come to murder us.”
Murder? Mal shook her head at Hatti’s Mrs. Bennet impersonation. “What thief?”
Walking in from the front, Kaden asked. “Yes, Mrs. Dustfeather, what thief?”
“We’ve been robbed. Just last night or today. I don’t know how we’ll deal with this.”
Mick patted Hatti on the shoulder
Looking rather guilty, Mal glanced at Kaden. He winked.
“Mrs. Dustfeather, what makes you think you’ve been robbed?” Kaden inquired.
“Items are missing, how else would I know?” She started screeching again.
“Okay, calm down, and tell us what happened.”
“Balthasar Popescu’s tools?” Everyone nodded. “They’re not all there anymore.”
Alarmed, Kaden asked, “What’s missing?”
Hatti’s eyes narrowed on Mallory. “Now that I think about it, you’ve been asking a lot of questions about Balthasar lately.”
Mallory startled. “You can’t think I would steal from you, Hatti!”
Hatti slumped. “No, of course not, dear. I’m sorry. This is just so distressing.”
Mallory hugged her, nodding encouragingly.
Ouija, Death & Wicked Witchery Page 17