See No Evil

by B. A. Shapiro

  “No need,” Gabe said, slipping the key in the ignition and starting the car. “It’s an issue of civil liberties.” When she persisted, he held up his hands. “The sergeant told me everyone’ll be processed by one o’clock at the latest. Then they’ll all be free to go.”

  Lauren watched Gabe slip the car into reverse and then into first. He had such nice hands, the fingers long and tapered but strong looking. Powerful. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep Robin and Tamar’s names out of the paper?” she asked, picking lint off her black jeans.

  “I’ve got a good friend who’s one of the most powerful reporters at the Globe.” Gabe pulled to the end of the driveway. They were facing the center of Moorscott, a rustic New England town with squat brick buildings, soaring church spires, a diamond-shaped town green, and, of course, a McDonald’s. “I can keep your name out of the paper too, if you want,” he continued, resting his arms on top of the steering wheel. “But if Nat finds out I helped you avoid this publicity opportunity, he’ll probably kill me.” He raised his eyebrows. “Which way?”

  Lauren pointed to the right. “Is Lynn that way?”

  Gabe shook his head and laughed; he turned to the left. Once they passed out of town, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “So, you apparently took my advice and followed up on some of Jackie’s leads,” he said. “Want to tell me how you managed all this so quickly?”

  A tremendous surge of relief poured over Lauren, relief at being out of jail, relief that Gabe wasn’t angry, relief that she had someone with whom she could share her strange tale. She laughed for what felt like the first time in a long while. Then she sobered and began to tell him what had transpired since he’d left her apartment the previous evening.

  “So,” Lauren said in conclusion, leaning back against the seat and allowing a sweet exhaustion to seep in where all her tension had been, “then Deborah invited me to their Wiccan moon ritual.”

  Gabe’s jaw tightened and he looked over at her. “I thought we’d decided you were going to stay away from those women.”

  Lauren sat up, surprised by both his intensity and the possessiveness of his words. She wasn’t at all sure she liked either. “I was wrong,” she said. “This was just a bunch of people doing their own thing.”

  “What does that mean?” he demanded.

  She stared out the window at the empty road and the almost leafless trees, lit up for a moment by the car’s headlights then sucked back into darkness once they had passed by. She didn’t know how to begin to answer Gabe’s question.

  “Didn’t they tell you to stay away from them?” The incredulity on Gabe’s face was heightened by the eerie red glow of the dashboard lights. “What about their cursed chronicle?”

  “Something must have happened to make them change their minds,” Lauren said, pointing to the sign for Shore Drive, amazed that he had found it the first time around. “I’m meeting Deborah at the store first thing Sunday morning.”

  Gabe twisted the wheel hard. “Deborah’s going to help you with the book?”

  “Slow down,” Lauren said, watching for the dirt road and wondering if maybe Gabe was angry at having to come get her in the middle of the night. “One of them was a transportation planner,” she added in an attempt to steer the discussion away from Deborah.

  He frowned. “One of your witches?”

  She shook her head. “They’re not real witches—not in Nat’s sense of the word. There’s no black magic, no supernatural powers. They’re just ordinary people. They worship goddesses, that’s all.” She shrugged. “They’re just—” she resumed, trying to make him understand, then interrupted herself. “There,” she said, pointing to the space between the twin birches. “There’s the road.”

  “I think you’re making a big mistake,” Gabe grumbled as he took the turn. They jostled down the rutted road in silence. When they reached the circle of cars, he parked and turned off the ignition. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you,” he said slowly.

  Here it comes, Lauren thought, folding her hands in her lap. She had pushed Gabe too far, and he was withdrawing his support. She was surprised at how deeply disappointed she was, both at losing his help with Rebeka Hibbens and losing the fantasy of falling in love with him.

  “I, ah, I don’t know quite how to say this.…” He hesitated and looked down at his hands.

  Lauren was amazed; she had never seen Gabe at a loss for words before. “It’s okay,” she began. “I knew how you felt—”

  “If there’s one thing my marriage taught me, it’s that secrets will destroy a relationship faster than anything else,” he interrupted, raising his eyes and spitting out the words as if he had finally found his courage. “There’s more behind my warning you away from Deborah than I let on.”

  “What do you mean?” Lauren asked, completely mystified.

  “I know for a fact that the woman’s certifiable.” He sighed the sigh of the damned. “I know this because I once had to have her committed—to a locked ward at McLean.”

  “You had Deborah Sewall committed to a mental institution?” Lauren was even more confused than before. “The woman from RavenWing?”

  “I should have told you about this earlier, but the time just never seemed right.” Gabe reached over and took Lauren’s hands in his. “Prepare yourself for a shock: Deborah Sewall is my ex-wife.”

  “That’s impossible!” Lauren gasped. “You two are just, just …” She stared at him. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I often have trouble with the concept myself.” Gabe shrugged and gave her a self-deprecating smile. “It was a long, long time ago. We were very young. She was very different—although I’m sure she’d say I was plenty different too.”

  “And she was so crazy that you had to have her committed?” Lauren asked, still having trouble making sense of Gabe’s disclosure. “But she seems so normal—in a bizarre way,” she corrected herself.

  “All part of the disease—or at least that’s how it was explained to me.” Gabe leaned over and kissed the end of Lauren’s nose. “Look, it’s late and it’s been a tough day all around. How about we save this discussion for Saturday night? I promise you more details on the strange Ms. Sewall than you ever wanted to hear.”

  “But—”

  Gabe shook his head to cut off her question. “Is seven o’clock okay?” he asked. When Lauren nodded, he climbed out of the car and came over to her side. With a gesture of exaggerated gallantry, he opened her door.

  “You sure are full of surprises, Dr. Phipps,” she said as he wrapped her in his arms.

  “And I hope to remain that way,” Gabe said, still smiling. Just when Lauren thought he was going to kiss her, he released her and motioned for her to get into her car. He waited until she had started her engine, then climbed into his own car, threw it into reverse, and headed back down the dark road.

  Lauren followed, the events of the evening weighing heavily on her mind. But rather than attempt to comprehend the incomprehensible, she concentrated on keeping Gabe’s taillights in sight. She was very much relieved when he led her safely back to Cambridge.

  Sixteen

  “YOU DID WHAT?” DAN LING DEMANDED, HIS DARK eyes wide with disbelief.

  “My editor made it clear he’d accept nothing less than the chronicle,” Lauren answered. “So when Deborah called and invited me to the ritual …”

  It was four o’clock the next afternoon. Lauren and Dan were sitting on a wooden bench at the Braybrook playground watching Drew and his friend Scott swoop down a spiral slide and then chase each other across a swinging walkway that connected a turreted room with a long tunnel.

  Braybrook was one of the famous Leathers’s fantasy playgrounds. It had been designed by Robert Leathers with input from the neighborhood children and then built by their parents in a weekend marathon reminiscent of Colonial barn raisings. Todd had been a member of the organizing committee. The Boston Globe had run a photograph of Todd standing atop one of the turrets, an
electric screwdriver in his hand. Drew had tacked the picture to the bulletin board in his bedroom.

  Dan was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and looked incredibly young, despite the stern expression on his face. “Don’t you see what’s going on here? I’m pretty sure Jackie was killed because she was mixed up with these witches—and now you’ve gone and marched right over to them.”

  Lauren watched Drew and Scott scamper across the sand. “You’ve got to understand that I’m caught in a no-win situation,” she said. “I’ve got to write this book—I need the money. Badly.”

  “At the risk of your life?”

  “Hey, Mom,” Drew called, hanging from the monkey bars by one hand. “Look at me!”

  “Great,” Lauren shouted, smiling at Drew. “Good job.” Her smile disappeared as she turned to Dan. “Gabe Phipps might be able to help me.” She told Dan about Gabe’s offer to help her write the book without Deborah and Cassandra.

  “The few times I met Phipps, he struck me as street smart as well as book smart,” Dan said. “And it was damn nice of him to go all the way up to Moorscott to bail you out last night. My advice is to do the book his way.”

  Lauren noticed Drew leaning precariously far out of an opening at the top of the play structure. “Drew!” she called to him. “I’ve told you before not to do that—get back inside or you’ll have to take a time-out.” Drew immediately disappeared from view. “If Gabe’s way works,” she said to Dan.

  “Based on how successful Phipps is getting, I’d say doing it his way is a pretty safe bet.”

  “I’m having dinner with him Saturday night,” Lauren said, as much to change the subject as to assess Dan’s reaction to herself and Gabe as a couple.

  Dan raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you were dating.”

  “Drew!” Lauren yelled, jumping up from the bench and walking over to where he was pulling the same leaning-out-of-the-opening stunt. “Get down here right now.”

  Drew disappeared inside the structure and reappeared a few seconds later in front of Lauren. “Sorry,” he said, looking at the ground and digging his toe in the sand. “I forgot.”

  Lauren pointed to a tree a few yards from the play structure. “Five minutes,” she said. “One more trick like that and we’re going home.”

  Drew kicked the sand a couple of times, then turned and did as his mother had ordered. Scott jumped from the monkey bars and ran over to where Drew was sitting. “Can I just stand here with Drew, Mrs. Freeman?” Scott asked. “I promise I won’t talk.”

  “Okay,” Lauren said to Scott, then held up her hand and spread her fingers at Drew, indicating five minutes. He nodded glumly, and she walked back to Dan.

  Lauren sat back down on the bench. “So, if your lieutenant won’t help us, how can we figure out if Jackie really was murdered?”

  “Zaleski—he’s the cult expert on the force I was telling you about—is checking out the RavenWing women for me, and the autopsy report is on the way.” Dan pulled his legs up on the bench and rested his chin between his knees. “There’s more we can do too.”

  “Like what?” Lauren asked, casting a watchful eye on Drew and Scott. They weren’t talking to each other, as promised, but they were both digging in the dirt in a way that made her suspicious.

  “Like talking to Jackie’s neighbors to find out if anyone else saw your shadow in the backyard. Like figuring out who else might have had a motive: Jackie’s other occult contacts, colleagues, friends, family members …”

  Lauren watched Drew and Scott carefully; now they seemed to be putting something into their pockets. “I can tell you right now that the colleagues, friends, and family route is going to turn up empty. You know as well as I do how much everyone liked Jackie.” As she was speaking, Lauren suddenly remembered Simon Pappas on the day of Jackie’s funeral, pressing his fingers into her arm and whispering with icy fury: “I won’t have Jackie’s memory or Matthew’s future besmirched by a bunch of lesbians spouting witchcraft.…”

  Drew and Scott approached cautiously, and Lauren nodded her permission for Drew to resume playing. Giggling, the boys ran to the play structure.

  “You’re probably right,” Dan said, “but I still think it’s worth a try. I’ll start talking to neighbors, and if you could go through the notes you got from Jackie’s house and compile a list of all the people she talked to about the book, I’ll tackle them next.”

  “Couldn’t you get into trouble with your lieutenant for this?” Lauren asked.

  Dan grinned. “That’s the least of our worries. The other thing I’d like you to do is check out that poppet and urn. Is there anyone beside the RavenWing women who might know anything about them?”

  Lauren thought for a moment. “Not that I can think—”

  She was interrupted by a high-pitched scream, followed by the sickening thud of a body hitting the ground. Terrified, she whirled toward the sounds.

  A young couple who had been sitting on a bench holding hands jumped to their feet. “Amanda!” they screamed in unison as they ran toward the still form of a little girl crumpled on the sand. White faced, Drew and Scott scurried down a ladder and stood off to one side.

  Dan was right behind the parents. “I’m a police officer,” he said as he knelt by the girl, reaching for her wrist.

  Lauren followed more slowly and went to stand next to Drew. She put an arm around his shoulder; he leaned slightly into her hip. Lauren was relieved to hear Amanda crying, but she could see that the girl’s arm was bent at an unnatural angle. Dan asked if anyone had a phone. A woman standing behind Lauren pulled a flip phone from her purse and dialed 911.

  “It’s just a precaution,” Dan told Amanda’s distraught parents. “She’s conscious, and that’s a good sign, but she might have suffered a concussion. It’s always best to have a doctor take a look after a fall.”

  Amanda began to cry louder. “He threw worms at me,” she said, pointing at Drew. “And then he pushed me!”

  Horrified, Lauren dropped her arm and stared at her son. “Did you push her?” she demanded.

  “He’s at my school,” Amanda sobbed to her mother. “He’s always mean to me.”

  “Did you?’ Lauren asked again. Everyone was staring at them in stony silence. Amanda’s parents were glaring at Drew, and even Dan’s expression was cold.

  Drew crossed his arms and looked Lauren in the eye. “I might’ve thrown a couple of worms at her,” he said, “but I never pushed her—I wouldn’t push a girl.” He said “girl” with such disdain that Lauren was inclined to believe him.

  “Well, we’ll see about that, young man,” she said, grabbing his shoulder and turning him toward the crowd. “Right now you march right over there and apologize to Amanda.” Lauren could see that Drew was mortified by this request, but she also knew he would comply. She followed him to where Amanda was now sitting up, resting against her father.

  “I’m sorry,” Drew mumbled to the ground.

  “We’re both very sorry,” Lauren said, looking first at Amanda and then at her parents. “I’ll find out exactly what went on here, and I promise you Drew will be punished accordingly. Do you want us to give you a ride to the hospital?” she offered, forgetting she had just watched a woman call for an ambulance. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  As the sound of approaching sirens filled the air, Amanda’s mother looked up at Lauren. Her face was pale and streaked with tears. “You can make sure your son stays away from my daughter,” she snapped. “And you can get out of my sight.”

  Lauren decided to wait twenty-four hours before talking with Drew, figuring if she was going to get the truth out of him, he needed time to calm down. She called Amanda’s house first thing the next morning to apologize again and find out how the little girl was doing. Amanda’s mother was just as caustic as she had been at the playground, but she did tell Lauren that, although Amanda didn’t have a concussion, her arm was fractured in two places.

  Lauren felt terrible. The only bright s
pot was when Scott’s mother called to tell her that Scott claimed Drew’s story was true. He and Drew had been throwing worms, but Drew had never touched Amanda. Lauren recognized that this was not much of a bright spot.

  When Drew came home from school, he was quieter than usual. He went straight to the kitchen to fix himself a Pop-Tart. Lauren poured him the glass of milk he had conveniently forgotten and sat down across from him.

  “How was school today?” she asked.

  “Okay, I guess.” His usual answer.

  “You know Daddy and I went to see Dr. Berg at your school the other day,” she began.

  “I didn’t push Amanda.”

  “I didn’t say that you did,” Lauren said soothingly. “But both Mrs. Baker and Dr. Berg think maybe you’re feeling angry a lot in school. Is that true?”

  “She wasn’t in school today.” Drew twirled the remains of his Pop-Tart on the table. “Someone said she was hurt really bad,” he added, his voice wavering. When he finally looked up at Lauren, his eyes were filled with tears. “I didn’t push her, Mommy, I swear I didn’t.” Then he started crying and ran over to Lauren.

  She opened her arms and pulled him into her lap. “I know you didn’t, Mister Boy,” she said, rubbing his back and kissing the top of his head. “I know you didn’t.”

  “But, but I did throw the worms,” he stuttered. “And, and that’s prob’ly why she fell—so it really is my fault. The same as if I did push her.” He began to cry even harder. “Is she going to d-die?”

  “Oh no, honey,” Lauren said, taking his face in her hands and looking into his eyes. “She broke her arm, that’s all. It’s bad and I’m sure it hurts her a lot, but she’s not going to die.” She pressed Drew to her. “She’s not going to die.”

  “Will I have to go to jail?” he asked in a small voice.

  Lauren held Drew even tighter, her heart aching with empathy for his guilt and fear; being a parent was so much harder and more complex than she had ever imagined. “You did a bad thing, honey, but it was a little-boy bad thing, not a grownup bad thing. Little boys don’t go to jail for throwing worms.”