by Ani Gonzalez
"I understand."
Caine looked at him sharply. "Kat and Fiona had nothing to do with this unfortunate accident. We want that made clear."
Again with the "we."
"That's what we hope to do," Gavin replied.
Caine's eyes narrowed. "Hope isn't a strategy, Chief."
Gavin sighed. He understood Caine's need for reassurance, but this was the best he could do. The investigation would follow its proper course.
"Where's Fiona?" he asked instead.
"In the back," Caine replied, wiping another glass. "She wanted a quiet corner."
"Thanks."
Gavin grabbed his drink and headed for the back. So far he'd learned that the Banshee Creek shopkeepers were very concerned, that they wanted the shops in question cleared, and that Caine liked to clean glassware when he was nervous.
This was going to be an educational night.
Fiona was, as Caine had indicated, seated in the back. Her blonde hair was styled up in her trademark ponytail and she was wearing a cream-colored jacket over her flowery dress. A tote bag with the Wicked Wicks logo hung from her chair. She'd picked to seat against the wall, which betrayed her anxiety.
Nervous people like to feel like they're in charge.
She was all business tonight. Her wineglass held a bubbly pink liquid, and he'd be willing to bet his prized Master Safety Manual that it was a non-alcoholic mix of cranberry juice and seltzer.
Little Miss Candle Maker wasn't drinking tonight. Caine was right. The town shopkeepers were spooked.
Did they have reason to be?
"Hi," he said, pulling out a chair. He hated to sit with his back to the crowd, but if it made her feel more at ease, he'd gladly do so.
"Hi, yourself," she replied, glancing down at his drink. "Hard day?"
"Yes. And you?"
A smile tugged at her mouth. "I kept busy."
"Lots of customers?"
The smile disappeared. "Not really. People seem...uncertain about my products."
"I see."
Her face hardened. "I can't clear my name, you know. There are no certifications for what I do, no safety regulations. I have insurance and I teach courses, but that's it as far as social proof goes."
He sipped his drink, feeling the sharp tang of the whisky as it went down his throat. He hated doing this to her.
But he had to.
"Kat's in the same boat," she continued. "But at least she can sell statues and books. I just have candles."
Gavin nodded. He'd love to be able to tell her that she needn't be concerned.
But he couldn't.
"How do you make the fire starters?" he asked instead. "Can you walk me through the process?"
"I can do better than that," she said, grabbing her tote bag and taking out a sheaf of papers. "Here's a list of all the ingredients I used."
Gavin grabbed the papers and scanned the list. It was impressively thorough, listing the types of wax, soy, and cardboard used in the different products, the herbal additives and extracts, and all of her materials suppliers.
"I checked all of the distributors and manufacturers today," Fiona noted. "They are all in business and they have no quality complaints. All my materials come from legitimate sources and all of them are safe."
Gavin nodded. He'd have one of his staff go over the list, but he was sure she was being honest. She thought her products were safe.
"Kat also made a list," Fiona said.
"Sean will pick that one up," he replied. "Tell me about how the manufacturing goes."
"Well, there are two kinds of fire starters, bundles, and cans. The bundles use newspaper and the cans use cardboard..."
She talked and talked, describing the melting of wax and wrapping of paper, the different types of raffia, the chamomile extract, and the sage leaves. She was enthusiastic about her craft and her products, and she'd clearly put in a lot of thought into the packaging and marketing.
But none of it sounded dangerous. He accepted the newspaper, raffia, and cardboard samples she offered, but he doubted he'd find anything there. A few pages of newspaper would not create a toxic smoke.
None of these materials would, even if you burned piles of them.
As Fiona kept on talking, he realized that she would happily chat about candle making, discussing the different merits of soy and beeswax and the best wick materials available, until dawn.
She really liked her work.
He went through her list as she spoke and noticed that something was missing.
"What about the bowl?" he asked. "Is it also cardboard?"
She paused and frowned. "What bowl?"
"There was a metal bowl found under the ashes. It's about a foot in diameter. There was wax in it and some kind of herbs."
"I don't sell fire starter bowls," Fiona said. "And nothing that big would work well."
"But it could be part of a ritual, right?"
She considered the question. "I suppose. You'd have to ask Kat about that. In any case, I don't carry any metal bowls. The ones I have are all glass and porcelain, very decorative. My depression glass candles are particularly popular." She paused. "I can't imagine there's much of a market for metal bowls."
"Are you sure?"
"About the market?"
"No, about you not having any in your store."
"Absolutely sure."
And that was that. He'd assumed the creepy bowl with the ominous symbols had been bought at Fiona's store. Apparently, he'd been wrong.
So where did the bowl come from?
CHAPTER NINE
FIONA COULDN'T hide her relief.
The fire starters hadn't caused Alicia's death. It was this mysterious bowl thingie. Oh, sure, Gavin hadn't said that outright, but that seemed to be what he was thinking.
That meant she was in the clear now. The cranberry juice she'd ordered seemed insufficient now. She needed to decompress.
She flagged down the waitress. "Could I have another cosmopolitan?"
The waitress looked confused. "Another...?"
Fiona winked and tapped her wineglass. "Maybe a tiny bit more vodka this time?"
The waitress smiled. "Gotcha." She turned to Gavin. "Another one for you too, Chief?"
He nodded. "Thanks, and could we have some nachos, please?"
"With guacamole." Fiona added. "And extra jalapeños."
"Coming right up." The waitress jotted down their order and left.
"Extra jalapeños?" Gavin asked.
"I can get them on the side," Fiona said, raising her hand to call back the waitress. The additional jalapeños did not come close to Caine's incendiary-but-best-selling Ghost Pepper Nachos, but they were still pretty spicy.
Gavin shook his head. "I can handle the heat."
That made her laugh. "I bet you can."
Gavin raised a brow. "Oh, you have no idea."
She felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. Surely, he didn't mean...
But the waitress appeared with her cosmopolitan, interrupting that train of thought.
"Poor Abby," Fiona said, quickly changing the subject.
She took a sip of her drink. Wow, the waitress really took that "extra vodka" request seriously.
Gavin turned to look at Abby and Mike's table. Caine was standing next to them, chatting. "Why do you say that?"
"She has been swamped by fans all night. They haven't given her a minute to herself."
Gavin shrugged, watching Abby sign yet another autograph for an admirer. "The price of fame. Luanne and Kat are also becoming well known. The town has a huge fan base and they love the local celebrities."
Fiona smiled ruefully. "I don't have that problem."
"Give it a year or so," Gavin said. "PRoVE will drop by the store, do a couple of video segments, put them up on YouTube, and, voilá, you'll be a household name. Well, at least in a certain type of household."
"The Addams Family kind?" She laughed. "Not likely. There's no such thing as a famous candle maker.
"
Kat was a witch and Luanne was a fortune teller. Fiona, however, was done with her fire witchery. She was now a mundane entrepreneur. Oh, she had a knack for the right ingredient, no doubt, and several practitioners had told her that her Sorceress' Best line had true magic in them, but, still...
She was just a candle maker. And she meant to stay that way.
Gavin drank the rest of his whisky. "How long have you been in Banshee Creek? Two months?"
"Closer to four, actually. It took a while to fix up the store."
"How do you like living here?" he asked. "It's not for everyone."
"Everyone is very nice." She glanced at Abby's table, where the singer was chatting animatedly with a couple of Beltane attendees. This was the umpteenth time her date night had been interrupted, but the singer was still smiling. "PRoVE helped me with all the Historical Preservation permits."
"Those can be troublesome."
Fiona's lips curved into a smile. "They're not as much of a pain as the Fire & Rescue paperwork."
Gavin gave her a sheepish look. "Well, we're dealing with life and death. The preservationists are all about the pretty."
Fiona raised a brow. "I don't think they see it that way."
He laughed. "I didn't realize the paperwork was so onerous. You should have asked me for help. We're all about the community outreach."
"DeShawn gave me a hand. He was very helpful."
"Was he?" Gavin asked, a strange edge to his voice. He drank down his whisky quickly.
Was it her imagination or was he bothered by her interaction with DeShawn? But the handsome fireman had been very polite and respectful. Anyway, wasn't DeShawn Olivia's guy? The policewoman certainly acted like it.
The Chief, however, suddenly seemed uncomfortable.
Interesting.
Luanne's words popped into her head. The Chief is sweet on you...
Could that be true?
She had to admit, she'd expected this meeting to be an uncomfortable interrogation. Instead, it was turning out to be rather pleasant, almost flirty.
Was there a reason for that?
"Here you go, guys." The waitress arrived with their nacho plate, a mountain of tortilla chips slathered with melted queso and drizzled with sour cream. Fiona's mouth watered.
"That's a lot of jalapeños," Gavin said.
"Are you chickening out?" Fiona asked cheekily.
"No," he replied. "But I'm going to need reinforcements." He turned to the waitress. "Could I have a beer, please." He glanced at Fiona. "Maybe two?"
Fiona nodded. Her cosmopolitan was all gone. She had no idea how it had vanished so quickly. She was feeling a slight buzz, but surely she hadn't downed the whole thing. Alcohol evaporated, right?
"Sure," she replied. "How about a pitcher of water too?"
Gavin eyed the jalapeños. "That would probably be wise."
Fiona laughed, grabbing a cheese-laden chip. That was vintage Gavin, always focused on safety.
He reached for a chip, shaking his head. "Good thing I made them buy extra fire extinguishers. They should come in handy."
Fiona munched happily. The nachos were amazing, crispy and spicy and, to be honest, hot as hell. Gavin dug in, clearly not afraid of the little green rings of fiery death.
There was something to be said about a man who could do justice to a good plate of nachos.
"How long have you been in town?" she asked.
"Close to ten years," he admitted. "I used to work for Fairfax County. It was a great job with top-notch training. We won the World Police and Fire Games while I was there."
Fiona tried not to smile. Was he bragging? It certainly sounded like he was trying to impress her.
"Why did you move?"
"I wanted a small town," he said. "I grew up in Lancaster, which is an Amish town. Even Fairfax was too big for me."
Fiona glanced at the posters that lined the walls of the The Mangy Owl. They featured Mothman silhouettes, ghost hunting equipment, and creepy Victorian houses.
"This is a long way from Amish country," she said.
Gavin laughed. "Not really. Sure, there are all sorts of crazy things, but deep down, this is one of the nicest small towns you could live in."
"So you like it."
He nodded. "At first people were a bit hostile. The prior chief had let things slide, and I put in a lot of work getting the place into shape."
Fiona glanced at Caine, who was cleaning up the back stage with one of his minions. "PRoVE must have given you a lot of trouble. They don't like interference."
"Actually, no. PRoVE—well, they were the Banshee Creek Paranormal Institute then—were cooperative. The true believers are usually very good about safety. They think what they're doing is dangerous and they take precautions. If you think there's really a giant cryptid ape trampling through the woods, you tend to take care."
"That makes sense," Fiona said, even though she was having a hard time picturing Caine being careful.
"It's the skeptics and fly-by-nighters that give us trouble. They think it's all fake and they go off with no prep work and no supplies. Even if you don't find aliens or ghosts or whatever, there's still hypothermia and sunstroke and exposed wires and whatnot." He shook his head. "You wouldn't believe some of the things I've seen."
Fiona leaned forward. "Oh, do tell."
But a loud round of applause interrupted their conversation. Everyone around them was clapping and cheering. The reason was soon clear. Abby Reed was walking to the stage, carrying a guitar.
"What's going on?" Gavin asked, joining in.
"She's going to sing," Fiona answered. "That's fantastic. I loved her Beltane performance."
"You're in for a treat then," Gavin said, smiling. "She's fantastic."
Was there a sliver of heat in his warm brown eyes? Or was she imagining things? She didn't have time to figure it out because Abby quickly sat down and strummed her guitar.
"Hi, folks," the singer said in her honeyed drawl. "Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to thank you for coming over to my table and telling me how much you like my songs. I don't get as much audience interaction as I want—"
"That's what happens when you sell out, Abby," Caine shouted.
Abby laughed. "I need to pay for diapers, dude. Those things are expensive."
The crowd chuckled.
Abby fiddled with her instrument, tuning it as she spoke. "You all shared your favorite tracks and gave me lots of tips on new poems and material I can use for future songs. I really appreciate that. Y'all know more folk songs than I do. Welcome to the paranerdom."
The crowd cheered.
Abby's face grew somber. "You also shared your grief. That was a terrible thing that happened last night, and I know everyone is trying to process it. I want you to know that Banshee Creek shares your sorrow." She looked down at her husband, Mike. "We all know what it's like to lose someone precious—someone who brings light and magic into your life—and how long it can take to recover from that loss."
She paused. The crowd stared at her, speechless.
"But we also know that music and fellowship can help the healing process." She played a few chords. "There's one particular song that was mentioned many times tonight. It's not exactly a mourning song, but it does illustrate the journey that we will all take some day, and that our friend, Alicia LeFay, had to take way too soon."
A couple of patrons clapped, recognizing the tune.
"So, without much ado, here is Loreena McKennitt's Lady of Shallot."
The room fell silent as Abby played. Fiona recognized the lyrics instantly. It was an old Tennyson poem she'd memorized in high school.
Up flew the web and floated high.
Gavin sat, turned toward the stage, enjoying the music. He was right, listening to Abby sing live was a thousand times better.
The mirror cracked from side to side.
Fiona scanned the crowd. Everyone was looking at the stage. Abby looked splendid, dressed in jeans and a
bohemian tunic, with her brown hair flowing down her shoulders. The impromptu concert was a lovely gesture, generous and well-meant.
But somehow Fiona still felt a sense of menace in the air. She peered at the bar patrons. They all seemed to be entranced.
But, still there was that feeling of malice...
Abby's song reached a crescendo. The crowd held its collective breath.
The doom is upon me, cried the Lady of Shalott.
CHAPTER TEN
"THAT WAS a great concert," Gavin said as he and Fiona walked down Main Street.
The night was cool and clear with a beautiful crescent moon and a light breeze. Gavin had insisted on walking her home. Her apartment was on the way to the fire station parking lot where he'd parked his Volvo, but, he admitted to himself, he hadn't offered to escort her due to convenience.
He liked spending time with Fiona.
Main Street was far from empty. The Mangy Owl and Poltergeist Pizza were still open, and the Banshee Creek Bakery was well into its night shift, the "Hot Donuts!" sign flashing enticingly.
"I liked it when she sang 'Danny Boy,'" he continued. "Her rendition was lovely, very melancholic."
"And it was the only song you recognized," Fiona said, laughing.
"True," he replied. "I'm no folk song expert. Everyone else knew her songs, though."
"By heart. She has accumulated a devoted following."
He nodded. "She's a smart businesswoman. I saw one of Caine's guys taping the concert. I bet they upload it to YouTube."
"Actually, they did a livestream. I saw people looking it up on their phones. But Abby did a very nice thing, even if she got some publicity out of it."
"That's the best part about this town. People really care."
She started to answer, but suddenly tripped on one of the town's infamous cobblestones, a relic of a glitzier, more prosperous era. Gavin reached out to steady her.
"Sorry," she said. "I'm a little tipsy."
"Not a problem," he said, feeling somewhat less than sober himself. How many beers did he drink, exactly? "Maybe some donuts would help?"