“It goes to character.”
“You're stretching.”
“He's obviously stressed out,” I said, keeping a circumspect eye on the birds. “Anyway, when I asked David why Alex had been bothering him, he told me to ask Eclectus.”
“And what did he say?”
“Um.” I’d forgotten to ask the lawyer. “I had to keep things casual. Anyway, Eclectus thought Alex might have shot himself.”
“That doesn't seem plausible.”
“Why not?”
The heat lamp pinged. Its red heating elements faded to gray, and the temperature dropped.
“Was the shot gun that killed Alex found?” Karin asked. “Because if he killed himself, then the gun would be right where he fell.”
“Uh…” I scrubbed a hand over my face. Another question I hadn't thought to ask. Lenore might know the answer though. “I'll ask Connor.”
“So basically, you've talked to a bunch of guys who don't know a whole lot. And why were you even talking to Wharton anyway?”
I warmed. “Because I saw him in Antoine's.”
“That’s a reason?” Her voice arced higher.
Wincing, I moved the phone away from my ear. “He was drunk and rambling about how Alex deserved what he'd got. I’d never seen him in there before. It was like his drinking was a reaction to Alex’s death, and I dunno. Do you get drunk when someone you hate dies horribly? I mean, I wouldn’t exactly be happy about it, but I wouldn’t go on a bender either. It seemed like there was more to it. I wanted to learn what was behind it.”
“And did you?”
Had I? Oh yeah, I had! “Because he said Alex was a bully and always had been, and that's why he told me about seeing Alex push David around.”
“Strange,” Karin said. “Why would a grown man attack a teenager?”
“Well, they did go to school together. Maybe Alex didn’t think of David as a teen.”
“But David is a teenager, and he's a Returned, or Disappeared, or whatever you want to call them. He deserves compassion. You'd think an adult and a professional who worked with the police would understand that. Was it an actual physical attack?”
A crow fluttered to the floor near my boots and snatched up a bread crust.
I edged away from the bird, and my chair scraped against the patio tiles. “Wharton said Alex shoved David against a wall.”
“This is so confusing,” she said.
“But it might imply a motive.”
“So, we’ve got Wharton, who seems to have hated Alex enough to get drunk and badmouth him. And then there’s David, who Alex assaulted. And who else?”
“There's Candace,” I said, shifting on the metal chair. “You know what they say about the spouse.”
She sighed. “I know, I know. And Eclectus?”
Eyeing the crow, I sipped my cocoa. “I can't get a read on him. I think for now we can consider him a witness rather than a suspect.”
“What's your next step?”
Next step? I rolled my eyes. OMG, she was never satisfied. “I think David's sister, Angela, might have more to say to me.”
“Angela? The woman who runs that cute little clothing shop on Main? How is she related to any of this?”
“It's just a feeling,” I said. “You know my feelings are always right.”
Karin groaned. “Keep me posted.” She hung up.
I stuck my tongue out at the phone and one side of my face heated. I turned.
The three women on the patio stared at me.
Okay, maybe sticking my tongue out had been a little immature. But come on; everyone does it.
The waitress paused beside my table. “Can I get you anything else?”
“A shot of cinnamon whiskey for this cocoa?” It was the weekend, after all.
“Sure! Why not?” She took the drink and bustled inside.
Pleased, I crossed my arms and legs and tilted my face toward the blue sky. Not only had I fended off my sister, but I also had a fine alcoholic beverage coming my way. The birds were just birds. The day was gorgeous, even if poor Brayden was stuck working. But that's what I got for falling in love with someone who saved people's lives for a living. I could cope with the occasional alone time.
A woman’s voice drifted across the patio. “… turnabout is fair play,” one of the women, a brunette, was saying. The other two laughed.
My stomach tightened.
“She cheated with him when he was married,” another agreed loudly, “and now he's stepping out on her.”
I turned to look at them.
The brunette, Mrs. Paine, smirked. The other two averted their gazes and colored. They’d been friends with my aunt before she’d passed. I knew these women, even if I didn’t know them well.
Unfolding my arms, I sat up straight. “Is there something you want to say to me?”
“I think you heard us just fine,” Mrs. Paine said.
“Yeah,” I said hotly, “but I don't understand what I'm hearing. What are you talking about?” Stupid small towns. Everyone thought they had a right to get into everyone else's business. Sometimes I thought Brayden had the right idea about leaving.
Mrs. Paine pointed to the hardware store a block away and across the street.
Brayden and Maya walked inside. The glass door closed behind them, and I sucked in a breath.
The crow by my boots made satisfied clicking sounds deep in its throat.
Nausea swamped me. “His hobby is restoring Victorians,” I said in a clipped voice. “He's helping out a new neighbor with her house.”
But he'd told me he was working a double shift today, and he wasn't working. He was with Maya.
Brayden had lied.
The waitress emerged from the restaurant. “Here you go.”
I thrust a bill into her hand. “Sorry. I have to go.”
“Oh, but—”
“Hold on.” I grabbed the chocolate from her and took a long gulp. Not that I needed liquid courage to talk to Brayden, but I wasn’t going to waste a good drink. I banged the mug on the table, splattering brown liquid, and jogged across the street.
Pushing open the door, I entered the hardware store. A bell jangled overhead. The store smelled of wood shavings and cleaning products. Gold tinsel lined the counter.
A bearded man looked up from behind the counter and straightened his canvas apron strap. “Can I help you find anything, Jayce?”
“No thanks, Fred,” I said, breathing hard. “I've got this.” You've got this, Jayce. I strode up and down the aisles.
Maya and Brayden stood with their heads together in the screw aisle.
Not that that was an omen or anything.
“Hi, Brayden,” I chirped. “Hello, Maya.”
Elegant in a camel-colored turtleneck and wool slacks, Maya replaced a screw in its bin. “Hey, Jayce! It’s great to see you again.”
Brayden lowered the red basket he carried to his side. “Hi, Jayce. What are you doing here?” His smile seemed forced.
I was pretty sure mine was too. “I need a new hammer.”
“What happened to your old one?” he asked.
“It's broken. I mean lost. I'm not sure what happened to it, but I need a new one.”
He laughed. “It’s probably under your bed.”
“Why would it be—?” It probably was under my bed. “I thought you were working a double shift today?”
“I was,” he said, “but then a buddy asked if he could take one of my shifts. He just had a kid and needs the extra money. And then we ran into Maya, and we got to talking Victorians.”
“We?” I asked, the tension in my shoulders releasing. Of course, the trip to the hardware store didn’t mean anything. He was just helping Maya out. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt for me to be more enthusiastic about his own DIY projects, like my porch light.
Terry, in her red-wool coat, strolled around the corner of the aisle. Her head bent as she studied a s
mall packet. “I think I found what you're looking for Maya…” She looked up. “Oh, hello Jayce,” she said coolly.
“Hi, Terry.” My shoulders curled inward guiltily. But I had nothing to be ashamed of. I stiffened my spine. “It's good to see you again.”
“Do you know Maya?” she asked. “She's new in town.”
“We've met,” I said.
“Did you know Maya and Alicia shared the same birthday?” Terry asked me. “She's exactly the age Alicia would have been.”
“No.” I faltered, unsure what to say to that. “I didn't.”
Terry beamed at her. “They even look a little alike. It's amazing to find someone like Maya in Doyle. And they both share a passion for home improvement.” Terry twisted an ornate, silver ring on her finger. The large obsidian stone at its center gleamed beneath the hardware store’s fluorescents.
Obsidian for protection, I thought automatically. But it was unlikely Terry knew that. She wasn’t a witch.
“I never thought I'd get obsessive over a house,” Maya said. “I think it's because this is the first place I've lived where I've felt it could be a real home.”
That was a beautiful sentiment. I was really starting to dislike Maya.
Wrong! So wrong. I didn't dislike Maya, and I certainly wasn’t jealous. Brayden had unexpected free time with Terry, his houseguest. He and Terry ran into Maya. She'd probably asked for his help, and he hadn’t felt he could say no.
But why hadn't he called me?
No, don't think that. Everything's fine. So why was Brayden looking at me like he didn't care?
“Jayce?” a woman asked behind me.
I whirled, grateful for the interruption.
Angela Senator stood with an empty red basket dangling in her hand. The basket clashed with her thigh-length, burgundy jacket.
“Hi, Angela,” I said brightly. “Shopping for hardware?”
“For my boutique.” She toyed with the chic gold necklace hanging low around the fold of her black turtleneck collar. “But I just decided I'd rather have lunch on my lunch break then shop for cleaning supplies.” She glanced at Brayden. “I was going to ask if you wanted to join me, Jayce, but I see you're with friends.”
“Oh,” I said, “they're busy doing Victorian restoration stuff. I'd love to have lunch.” My stomach gurgled – a strangled, for-God’s-sake-I'm-digesting-you-can't-be-serious sound. “See you later, Brayden, Maya, Terry.”
“Right,” he said. “See ya.”
We strolled from the hardware store as if we hadn't a care in the world. But my gut twisted, as if I’d made a terrible mistake.
And my feelings were never wrong.
CHAPTER TWELVE
An SUV whizzed past on the damp street, and I edged deeper into the shade of the covered walkway. Twinkle lights flickered in the window of a nearby cupcake shop.
Angela shot me a sideways glance. “I wasn't sure you'd come after… not after that scene between David and me.”
I kicked a loose stone. I’d come to escape. Those harpies at the Barn and Brew had unnerved me. I should never have let them get into my head. “You caught me at a good time.”
I heaved a sigh, my breath misting the air. “And I have plenty of arguments with my sisters. Yours with David didn't seem that bad.”
On the sidewalk, a whippet strained at his leash and dragged his teenage owner, giggling, behind him. The two disappeared inside a false-fronted t-shirt shop, its windows coated with fake snow.
“Well, I was embarrassed.” She bit her lip. “I think there's a Returned in your family too?”
“My sister-in-law, Emily Heathcoat.” My niece, Emmie, had been named for her.
“I meant—” She colored to the roots of her dark red hair. “Is she… How is she?”
“Emily doesn't remember what happened, and she was gone nearly seven years. Her friends have gotten married, had kids. It's confusing. But she wasn't gone as long as David.”
We passed a tourist couple bundled in scarves and parkas and walking a German Shepherd in a Santa hat.
“Everyone’s glad to have her back,” I said, “but, I think the family’s walking on eggshells. No one really knows what to do, how to act.”
“That’s it exactly! David… Sometimes I feel like the person who came back isn't my brother at all.” She laughed uneasily. “That probably sounds ridiculous.”
I played with the zipper on my jacket. Karin was definitely Karin. She was just… more intense since her summer escapade. “No,” I said slowly. “It doesn’t. Emily isn't the same either. Or at least, that's what her brother, Nick, told me. But I can't imagine how I would behave if it had happened to me. Who's to say what's normal under such abnormal circumstances?”
She swallowed. “I heard there's a psychiatrist at the hospital who's been working with the Returned. He's local, sort of, so he believes that… He believes they're not crazy. But David won't go. Not that I could afford it,” she muttered.
We turned onto her street and walked beneath a barren elm.
“It's too bad there's no support group for the people who've come back,” I said.
Her laugh was bitter. “Are you kidding? Most of the Returned won't even talk to each other. Haven't you heard?”
I stopped outside an A-frame cabin. “No, I hadn't. Why won't they?”
She shrugged. “Another of life's mysteries.”
We continued on, walking toward her peeling, brown ranch house. It thumped with a prog rock song. Crows circled, unperturbed, above the low roof.
I zipped my jacket higher and watched the black birds.
“What about your sister-in-law, Emily?” she asked. “Is she seeing anyone, professionally, I mean?”
“She's in San Francisco,” I said. “I don't know if there are any Returned for her to talk to there. But that's where she's from.”
“Maybe it's better she’s not in Doyle. A fresh start.” She turned into her dead yard, and we walked up steps to the front porch. The music blared loudly enough to make me wince.
Angela unlocked the door. “I was planning on having a quick sandwich,” she shouted over the din, “if that's okay with you? My assistant is going to want her lunch break as soon as I get back.”
“I'm not that hungry anyway,” I yelled back. “I really just wanted some conversation.”
She pushed open the door.
The odor hit as soon as I crossed the threshold — a sickening musk, offal, and beneath it something sharp and coppery. Eyes watering, I gagged and pressed my sleeve to my nose.
Angela staggered. “What the…? David? David! What have you done?” She hurried deeper into the house, turning a corner and vanishing from sight.
I hesitated, then followed.
She stood in an open bedroom doorway. “David?” Shaking her head, she hurried inside the room, and the music stopped.
Angela emerged. “Well, at least we can hear each other. But what's that awful smell?” She sniffed. “The kitchen. David, what did you do?” She hurried past me.
My stomach twisted. I did not want to go anywhere near that smell. “Angela, wait.”
But she moved ahead of me. Reluctantly, I followed, my movements wooden. “Angela,” I said weakly.
She walked through an entryway and stopped dead. Her purse slid off her shoulder and thunked to the floor. “David?” she whispered.
A chill breeze stirred our hair.
I peered over her shoulder. Blood dripped down the white kitchen cabinets.
“David!” She screamed and fell to her knees.
Confused, I stared past her. A white-tiled kitchen island. An open door behind it, blood spattering the wall. White tiled floor streaked red. David lay partially hidden behind the island, his head and shoulders exposed. He lay in a crimson pool. His eyes stared, dull, his expression shocked and still.
I covered my mouth. No. No, no, no.
The kitchen door banged shut, and we both jump
ed.
“David,” she whispered and reached toward him.
Shocked, I grasped her shoulder, my hand fisting in her soft, burgundy jacket. “It's too late. Come outside.”
“But—”
“We need to call the police.” My voice cracked on the last syllable. “They won't want us inside. This is a crime scene.”
“No,” she whispered. “No. Not David. Not my brother.” Shaking violently, she stumbled to her feet.
I hugged her around the waist, and together we somehow made our way onto the front porch.
She half-fell, slumping against a porch railing. “He's dead, isn't he?”
“I'm so sorry, Angela.” I dug my phone from my pocket and called nine-one-one, reported what we'd seen.
“My brother's dead.” She sobbed and turned from me. “Why is he dead?”
Gently, I laid my hand on her upper back and wished Lenore was here. She was the healer, not me. But I visualized warmth and strength and calm flowing from my hand and into the woman, and her shuddering eased.
My gaze dropped to the wooden porch. Dried leaves piled against the wall of the house. A welcome mat lay before the door. And in front of it, a man's muddy boot print.
I frowned. Was it David's?
Behind Angela’s back, I snapped a picture of the print with my phone. It was unlikely I'd be able to do much with the photo, but I had to do something.
I'd thought David was a possible suspect in Alex Mansfield's murder. Now he was another victim. Why? Had he known something? Did he have a connection to Alex that had caused both their deaths?
I shivered, the spot between my shoulder blades prickling. Slowly, I turned and studied the Victorian across the street.
The curtains in the windows didn't move.
The street was silent. No children played on the swing set at the house next door. No birds fluttered in the trees. The air was still. A lone, brown leaf drifted down from an elm at the front of the yard.
I hunched my shoulders, breathing more quickly. The feeling of watchfulness grew, my skin tingling unpleasantly.
A siren wailed in the distance.
I clenched my teeth, my hands fisting.
A gaze, hot and angry, struck me like a physical force, and I stepped backward. My spine pressed against the wall of the house. The nails-on-a-chalkboard air pressure increased, magic thickening the air.
Witch Page 9