Autumn Alibi

by Jennifer David Hesse

  “Do you mind if I stay?”

  He looked at me with mild surprise. “By yourself?”

  “I’m a big girl.”

  “Very well. Call me if you need me.”

  Besides, I thought, as I locked the kitchen door behind Crenshaw. I’m never really alone.

  * * *

  The library gave me the heebie-jeebies, and the parlor, with its dying flowers beneath the once-twinkling eyes of Elaine in her portrait, gave me the blues. So, I wound up spending a good part of the morning in the conservatory. The green plants, so full of life and magic, gave me inspiration. I brought Josie in with me and shut the door, so she wouldn’t go wandering. She would be my muse as I tried to puzzle through what in the world was going on at Turnbull Manor.

  Celia was good about keeping the plants watered, but there were still brown leaves to pick off, and a couple of planters that were beginning to dry out. I tended to the plants as my mind drifted like the clouds outside the windows. Before long, I recalled the tarot card I’d pulled the day before: The Lovers. I still wanted to get Mila’s take on the card’s meaning. My first thought, of course, was of Wes. Maybe the card was more about my personal life than the mysteries I was trying to solve—the ultimate mystery being the future of our relationship. Would we continue in this casual, limbo state forever? Or would we finally tie the knot? Or, in Suzanne’s words, “make it official.”

  Thinking of relationships brought me back to the connections among the residents of Turnbull Manor. Everyone seemed to have a secret. The question was, how many secrets were out there? Were some of the residents keeping the same secret? Were some of them working together? The relations among the five of them seemed to be more and more strained as time went on.

  Celia knew something about Ernesto—something for which she had demanded hush money. Suzanne apparently liked Ernesto and seemed to be having an affair with him. Was that their secret? But then they argued last night, and she accused him of hiding something. Ray had also tried to follow Ernesto early in the evening during the gala.

  At various times, Suzanne had also lashed out at both Celia and Ray. Maybe she was cranky because of her precarious financial position. But she was also evasive about the past, especially about the period when her husband died and her daughter ran away.

  Celia had her own secrets. She stole jewelry from her late employer, whom she evidently didn’t much like. And she lied about leaving the house the night Elaine died. She also had a habit of spying on people, me included. I remembered how she’d been caught eavesdropping on Xavier and me in the garden, and then tried to make Wes jealous by tattling on me. Was Celia obsessed with lovers and the idea of splitting them apart?

  Then there were Ray and Perry. Perry seemed to get along with everyone, whereas Ray didn’t seem to like anyone. But the heated argument between the two of them suggested there was more going on that I didn’t know about.

  “What am I missing?” I asked aloud. Josie flicked her tail as she stalked by.

  My ears picked up the sound of chimes. Opening the conservatory door, I realized it was the front doorbell. I still seemed to be alone in the house, so I went to answer it. To my delight, Mila was standing on the front porch. Her gray cat, Drishti, stood at her side.

  “What a surprise!” I said. “I was just thinking about you!”

  “No wonder you popped into my mind,” she said with a smile. “We were on our way back from a visit to the vet when I had a sudden notion to stop in and see you. Something told me I’d find you here.”

  “Is everything okay?” I inclined my head toward Drishti, who was now eagerly eyeing Josie. The two kitties approached each other with noses twitching.

  “Everything’s fine. She was due for her vaccinations, so she’ll be a little sore—but no less curious.”

  “Let’s go to the kitchen. Would you like some tea?”

  We caught up with one another over herbal tea and crackers with hummus. As we chatted, Suzanne breezed in. She went straight for the refrigerator and pulled out the makings of a Bloody Mary. I introduced her to Mila.

  “Hello,” she said, raising a bottle of vodka. “Hair of the dog, you know? Would either of you like one?”

  We declined, and she shrugged, returning her attention to her cocktail ingredients. Once it was made, she stuck in a stalk of celery and took a gulp. “Have you seen Ernesto?” she asked me. “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “I haven’t seen anyone,” I said. “Other than Crenshaw, who went out for a while.”

  “I’m going out, too,” she declared. “I need to see a man about a car.” With that, she fluttered her fingers at us and left the room, taking her drink with her.

  I told Mila a bit about Suzanne and the other residents of Turnbull Manor, and then asked for her opinion about The Lovers card. “I was thinking about Elaine Turnbull, among other things, when I drew the card,” I said. “Elaine loved her husband, Harold, but he died when she was still in her fifties. I don’t know if she loved her nurse, Ray, but I think he loved her. Her maid, Celia, also loved Harold—and, therefore, thought of Elaine as her rival.”

  Mila listened politely, as I continued naming people she didn’t know. “Of course, Elaine also loved her son, Jim, and her granddaughter, Lana. Jim’s best friend was Perry, who was crushed when Jim died. Suzanne was upset when Jim died, too, even though they were separated and on the verge of divorce. I don’t know what their troubles were about, but they fought on the day he died. Now Suzanne seems to be lovers with Ernesto, although she often talks about dating wealthy, older men.”

  I took a breath, and Mila smiled as she sipped her tea.

  “What I can’t figure out,” I said, “is who The Lovers are supposed to be. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Yes, I do,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “And I think you do, too, deep down.”

  Frowning, I conjured up the card in my mind’s eye. A man and a woman, standing naked, side by side. They’re in a place that looks like the Garden of Eden. Above them is an angel-like figure, blessing their union.

  “Is it me?” I asked. “And Wes?”

  “Tarot readings are always personal,” said Mila. “They can provide answers to a host of questions. The Lovers card, while symbolic in many ways, is one of the most straightforward cards in the Major Arcana. What do you think it means?”

  My stomach did a little flip-flop. The body always knows. “Now that I think about it, my primary question was whether or not I was on the right track. And I have been thinking a lot lately about my relationship with Wes.”

  Mila smiled serenely, as if the matter were settled.

  “But what about all the unanswered questions here? Every time I think I’m getting close to figuring something out, another piece slips away. Or is stolen.”

  Mila tapped her multiringed fingers together, pondering my problem. After a moment, she nodded her head decisively, as if agreeing with a voice only she heard. “Keli, are you familiar with the Witch’s Pyramid, also known as the Four Powers of the Sphinx?”

  “Of course. They’re the four powers you need to make magic, right?” I ticked them off on my fingers. “To know, to will, to dare, and to keep silent.”

  “That’s right. The Witch’s Pyramid is an ancient philosophy widely followed by those serious about learning and practicing the magical arts. It contains foundational steps for casting spells, as well as attributes the magician must develop within. It’s a tool, really. What does each step mean for you?”

  “Gosh, I haven’t thought about it in a while. I was all over the Witch’s Pyramid back when I first learned about Wicca and real magic. Let’s see . . . ‘To know’ means to acquire as much knowledge as you can. ‘Know thyself,’ first and foremost, but also keep learning about the world and your craft.”

  Mila nodded encouragingly, so I continued. “‘To will’ is about setting your intention. I think it’s also about perseverance and personal sovereignty. It’s about making your own decisions and direct
ing your own life—which, by the way, is one of the things I love best about our religion.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Mila. “And ‘to dare’?”

  “That’s about courage, naturally. It’s about taking action, daring to face your fears and bring forth the latent power within.”

  “And now for the tricky one. What does it mean ‘to be silent’?”

  I nodded, knowing exactly what she meant by it being tricky. “I used to think this maxim was advising me to hide my witchcraft, keep all my spell work a secret. But now I think it’s more about receiving. There’s a time to talk and a time to listen. A time for action and a time for rest. If magic is the practice of co-creation with the Divine, then ‘to be silent’ is when you sit back after you’ve done your part, and you let the Divine take over.”

  “Good,” said Mila. “And what a perfectly appropriate, and balanced, approach to take as we near the Autumn Equinox.”

  “How do you interpret these four principles?” I asked.

  She waved her hand as if her beliefs didn’t matter. “My interpretation is very similar to yours. The four principles correspond with the four elements: air, fire, water, and earth. These are all necessary for working magic and advancing in our spiritual journeys. However, the reason I’m thinking of this now is because it might help with your current quandary.”

  “How so?”

  “To find that which you seek you need knowledge, focus, courage, and discernment. In other words, you need to make sure you have all the necessary information about the issue. You need to be clear about your desire in this matter, focused and determined. You must not let fear be a roadblock. And you must be careful about who you speak to and what you say, holding back as needed. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, I think so. As for gathering knowledge, that’s what I started out doing. I wanted to learn everything I could about Elaine and Lana. My goal was to help Crenshaw settle the estate and find Lana. I guess I let myself get distracted by all the other strange things going on around here.” As I thought back over the past week, I realized I’d also lost my nerve more than once. And maybe I’d done too much talking and not enough listening.

  “You can get back on track,” said Mila. “Just come back to your center of power. And remember the overarching element: Spirit. You’re not in this alone.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing earlier!” I said.

  Mila stood up and called Drishti to her side. “Keep me posted,” she said. “I predict you’ll have this all sorted before Mabon.”

  “Really?” Mila’s predictions were not to be taken lightly. I knew this from experience.

  “Oh, yes. And tonight’s the harvest moon, you know. Why don’t you ask Luna to shine her light on the darkest shadows? She just might reveal the truth you’re seeking.”

  My pulse quickened at Mila’s words, as a shiver of anticipation coursed through my veins. “Maybe I’ll do that,” I said, touching my Triple Goddess tattoo. “That’s an excellent idea.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Wes came back in the late afternoon bearing sandwiches and beer. We ate in our room to ensure we’d be alone. Crenshaw was still at his play rehearsal, and Farrah had called to say she needed to catch up on things at home. As for the other occupants of Turnbull Manor, I didn’t much feel like seeing them at the moment. I was taking Mila’s advice to heart and following the words of the Sphinx: to know, to will, to dare, and to keep silent.

  Of course, I wasn’t keeping silent with Wes. We discussed the case and shared everything we had each learned over the past few days.

  “None of my former classmates has heard from Lana,” he said, with some frustration. “That idea was a dead end.”

  “What about the girl from the swim team, Jenny Burg?”

  “I finally got a hold of her this morning. She lost touch with Lana after high school.”

  “Bummer. Are you sure that artist, Penny whatever, was in communication with Lana?”

  “Yeah. I know they were really roommates in Chicago, because she showed me some pictures. And you can just tell when a person is telling you the truth, you know?”

  I took a swig from my beer bottle and looked out the window. The moon would be rising soon. “Sometimes you can tell the truth from a lie. But not always. Some people lie so easily it sounds like the truth—especially when it’s a matter of self-preservation for them.”

  “Well, Penny had no reason to lie. Her self-preservation wasn’t on the line.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of Penny. I was thinking of Celia and Ray and the others who live here.” I stood up and wandered around the room, picking up my crystal and replacing it on the nightstand. Here I was letting myself get distracted again. I cracked open the window, letting in a whoosh of cool air.

  “To know,” I murmured.

  “What’d you say?” Wes crumpled his sandwich wrapper and tossed it in the waste bin.

  “There’s more I want to know about Lana and what was going on here before she left. I never did see the things she left behind.”

  “Where are they? In her old room?”

  I shook my head. “Her stuff was packed up. It’s all in the attic now.”

  “Well, let’s go.” Wes reached for his jacket and pulled it on.

  “It’s more of a finished third floor,” I said. “It’s not cold up there.”

  “I’ve got stuff in my jacket,” said Wes, patting his pockets. “Phone, notebook and pen, ziplocks for evidence.”

  “Evidence?” I stared at him, as a grin broke out over my face. “All you need now is a deerstalker hat. Or maybe a fedora.”

  “Nah, it would mess up my hair,” he said, pushing me toward the door. Not to be outdone, I grabbed my own phone and jacket on the way out.

  With the growing darkness outside, the house was becoming gloomy. We flipped on hall lights as we made our way to the back staircase and up to the third floor. If Celia or Suzanne had come back, they hadn’t made a sound. I could imagine how eerie this place would become if Crenshaw decided to go through with his plan of closing it up. I wondered if he’d cover the furniture with sheets.

  The storeroom was in a state of semi-organized chaos. Labeled boxes were stacked three and four-high along the walls, while old furniture and dusty sports equipment was piled haphazardly here and there. The overhead light didn’t provide much illumination, so Wes pulled out his phone and tapped a button. He then directed a bright, white beam toward the boxes on the far wall. “Flashlight app,” he explained.

  “Smart,” I said, wishing I’d thought to do the same with my phone.

  “Look,” he said. “There’s one with Lana’s name on it.”

  The box he indicated was on the floor in front of another row of boxes. The cardboard flaps on top were hanging open. “Someone must have opened this recently,” I said.

  “Crenshaw?”

  “I don’t think so. The day before yesterday, he mentioned he hadn’t done an inventory in here yet. And he wouldn’t have had time yesterday.”

  Wes shone his light in the box, and I looked inside. It appeared to contain an assortment of other boxes: shoeboxes, jewelry boxes, and a miniature treasure chest. I lifted some of the lids and poked around. “Looks like keepsakes,” I said. There were button pins and swim team ribbons, costume jewelry and movie ticket stubs. Another container held colored pencils and crayons.

  Wes moved on to look for other boxes with Lana’s name. “Here’s one with clothes,” he said.

  But I wasn’t finished with the keepsakes. I’d found a plastic container that held assorted papers: grade school report cards, a few birthday cards, and even a few snapshots. One photograph caught my eye because it was torn. Holding it up to the light, I recognized Suzanne, maybe twenty years ago. It appeared her image had been cut out of a posed family Christmas photo. Did Lana cut herself and her father out of the picture and leave the rest behind? Or did Suzanne cut herself out of the photo?

  I set the picture aside and continue
d my inspection of the papers. I had nearly reached the bottom of the pile when I recognized part of a hand-drawn family tree. I unfolded the paper and spotted Lana’s name in a rectangle at the bottom of the sheet. Her name was also in the top right corner, indicating the family tree was made for a school assignment. It went back only a few generations, and only on Harold’s side. I found Harold and Elaine, with a line to their only son, Jim. And from there, a line to Lana. And then I saw something surprising—the name in the space for Lana’s mother was not Suzanne. It was someone named Angela. I squinted at the dates beneath her name and discovered that she had died the same year Lana was born. Suzanne’s name was in a box to the side, under the label “stepmother.”

  “How about that?” I murmured. No one had ever mentioned Suzanne being Lana’s stepmother. In fact, she would have been the only mother Lana ever knew. But I couldn’t help wondering if this was at least part of the reason they didn’t seem to be especially close. “Wes, did you know Suzanne wasn’t Lana’s birth mother?”

  “Huh?” He was examining something on the floor. “Oh. No, I didn’t know that. Check this out.”

  I replaced the papers in the container and stuck it back in the box, then joined Wes. “What is it?”

  He held something between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s a clump of mud and leaves. And it’s still wet.”

  “Did we track it in?” I checked the bottom of my shoes, but they were dry.

  “Uh-uh. You know how we thought someone had been looking in the boxes recently? I think it must have been very recently. Like shortly before we came up here.” He pointed his light on the floor a few feet away. “Look, there’s more.”

  I reached down to touch a bit of the mud and confirmed it was damp. “I wonder who was up here.”

  “Maybe Ernesto,” suggested Wes. “He spends a lot of time outside.”

  “Yeah. But it could have been anyone else who’s been outside, under the trees.”