Had I met my stalker in the flesh?
“On the bright side,” said Farrah, “he’ll never have the nerve to show his face around here again.”
“Right,” I said. At least not a face I would recognize.
* * *
Day one of Applefest felt like a celebration of all the best fall had to offer. Situated on the county fairgrounds at the edge of town, it provided a perfect showcase for all the area farms. As I wound my way through the grounds, I passed stands bearing all the season’s bounty: from corn, squash, arugula, and okra to peaches, tomatoes, and grapes. And apples, of course, in a multitude of varieties. Besides the cornucopia of fruits and vegetables, there were also fresh-cut flowers, dried cornstalks, and other goodies for autumn decorating. The sound of children laughing, and the scent of popcorn and cider doughnuts, only added to the festive atmosphere.
When I finally reached Mila’s booth, set up against a backdrop of golden-brown cornfields, I was grinning from ear to ear. It looked like she’d recreated the window display at Moonstone Treasures—complete with her cat, Drishti, who made a perfect witchy mascot. She greeted me with a warm smile and a glass of deep purple grape juice.
“You’re such a dear to help me out! Catrina’s hay fever kicked in so badly, I sent her straight home for herbal tea and bed rest. But I could really use a second pair of hands today. Just look at all these people!”
“I’m happy to help,” I said, as I took in the milling crowds. It was true that the turnout today was larger than usual. This was partly due to the glorious weather. But I suspected it was also attributable to a couple of other events coinciding with the harvest festival, including a kids’ beauty pageant and a luxury auto auction.
As I watched the passersby, an unexpected profile came into view. In fact, it was so surprising it made my stomach lurch. There was no mistaking the expensive haircut, movie-star sunglasses, and full, black beard.
Evidently, I hadn’t seen the last of Xavier Charleston after all.
“What is he doing here?” I muttered. “Mila, do you need me at the moment? Or can I—”
“Go,” she said, taking the glass of grape juice from my hand.
“I’ll be right back.”
I hurried off in the direction Xavier had headed. For a moment, I lost him in the crowd. But then I spotted him again—standing in line at a caramel corn stand, of all places.
Ducking behind a chrysanthemum-filled wooden cart, I studied the man who called himself Xavier.
Who is he really?
As I watched, he stepped up to the counter and lifted his sunglasses to the top of his head. He flashed a grin at the girl behind the counter. And when she handed him a bag of caramel corn, he tilted his chin and gave her a wink.
In that moment, I recognized the man behind the beard. It had to be him. There was only one cocky young man I knew with a habit of winking and a penchant for caramel corn—and a deep grudge against me.
But no. He was in jail. My former colleague, Jeremy Bradson, was arrested for stealing Shakespeare’s First Folio—among other crimes. It couldn’t be him.
As Xavier took off again, I followed a few paces behind. With my mind reeling, I took out my cell phone and called Detective Rhinehardt. When he answered, I asked him straight up: “Is Jeremy Bradson still in prison?”
He hesitated for barely a second before saying, “No.”
I froze in my tracks, incredulous at the story Rhinehardt shared. Shortly after his arrest, Jeremy had turned state’s evidence, agreeing to give up information on all his co-conspirators in the loan shark operation. That was the real reason the River Queen gambling boat had been shut down three years ago. Part of the deal allowed Jeremy to go free under cover of a witness protection program. But last Rhinehardt had heard, Jeremy had disappeared from the program.
“I know where he is,” I said.
“What? Where?”
Gazing around the crowd of festival-goers, I realized I’d lost him. He was gone.
“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
With a sigh, I made my way back to Mila’s stand. In my heart, I knew I had seen the last of Xavier Charleston—this time, for good. He had undoubtedly sold his Bentley at the auto auction and would soon shave his beard and change his name. With all the cash he had, he could go anywhere now.
Maybe I wouldn’t hear from the “Giftster” anymore either. Maybe he had tormented me enough. At least for now.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
On Mabon morning, I awoke early and went outside to gather fallen leaves. There weren’t as many on the ground as there would be in a few weeks, but there were still plenty to choose from. I started in the backyard and ended up wandering over to Fieldstone Park. It was like a meditation-in-motion. A dazzling leaf of gold, red, orange, or yellow would catch my eye. I would lean down to pick it up, admire its beauty, and place it in my basket. In this way, it also became a gratitude ritual. With every unique and gorgeous leaf, in infinite variations and patterns, I would say a prayer of thanks to Mother Nature. As I filled my basket, I reflected on the other ways my life was filled with abundance.
I had a wonderful, loving partner. Awesome friends and a caring family. The sweetest, smartest cat (if I did say so myself). A job I found fulfilling—with an amazing new assistant! I was also grateful for my beautiful little town, quirks and all. And the sun, moon, and stars; the flowers and the trees; the birds and bees.
By the time I returned home, my heart was as overflowing as my basket. I brought the leaves inside, scattered a few across my altar, and placed the rest in a large glass bowl. It would be the centerpiece of our dining room table.
Wes and I had to add a few more leaves to the table—the kind that make it bigger—in order to accommodate all our dinner guests that night. Mabon was the Wiccan Thanksgiving, and I’d decided to go all out. At first, it was going to be an intimate gathering, with just Mila and her husband, Farrah and a date, my cousin Ricki, and Arlen. Then Arlen asked if his partner could come along, and I said, “Of course.” Mila mentioned that Catrina was feeling better and didn’t have plans, so I called her at once to extend an invitation.
Farrah texted to let me know she didn’t have a date, but she hoped Crenshaw would be there. At that, I realized I should have invited him in the first place. He was surprised when I called but delighted to accept.
All told, there were ten of us around the dinner table. We passed the cider and wine and feasted on roasted harvest vegetables, seven-bean soup, spinach pomegranate salad, and corn bread—with assorted apple and pumpkin treats for dessert. It was a laughing, genial bunch—and such an interesting mix of professions, styles, and personalities. The Autumn Equinox was a time to welcome balance, and I had a perfect example of balance sitting right across from me. Talk about yin and yang. Farrah and Crenshaw looked at one another with sparkles in their eyes. At one point, I overheard her say, “Crenshaw . . . Macbeth Davenport.”
“No,” he said.
“What is your middle name? Are you ever going to tell me?”
“No,” he said. “I guess you’ll just have to keep guessing.”
* * *
After everyone left, Wes and I sat on the floor in the living room, watching Josie play with her favorite cat toys. We’d dimmed the lights and lit some candles. I was so content and pleased with how the day had gone.
“What do you want to do tomorrow?” asked Wes. “For once we both have a free Saturday.”
“I haven’t been to the woods in a while,” I said. “Want to go for a hike out at Briar Creek?”
“Sure. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy to do anything.”
I smiled and leaned my head on his shoulder. Am I the luckiest girl in the world, or what?
Suddenly, a notion took hold of me, making me sit upright. There was one thing that really, truly would make me the happiest I’d ever been. I wanted to marry Wes. I wanted to “make it official,” as Suzanne had said.
I shoul
d just ask him myself.
I turned to face him and took a deep breath. “Wes—” I began.
But he said my name at the same time. “Keli?”
“Yes?”
“Will you marry me?”
If you enjoyed Autumn Alibi, be sure not to miss all of Jennifer David Hesse’s Wiccan Wheel Mystery series, including
Yuletide Homicide
It’s Christmas in Edindale, Illinois, and family law attorney Keli Milanni is preparing to celebrate the Wiccan holiday Yuletide, a celebration of rebirth. But this Yuletide someone else is focused on dying . . .
After years of practicing in secret, Keli has come out as a Wiccan to her boyfriend, and she feels like this Yuletide she’s the one who’s being reborn.
But the Solstice is the longest night of the year, and Keli is about to stumble on a mystery so dangerous, she’ll be lucky to make it to morning.
Paired with her unbearably stuffy colleague Crenshaw Davenport III, Keli goes undercover at a real estate company owned by mayoral candidate Edgar Harrison. An old friend of Keli’s boss, Harrison is being blackmailed, and it’s up to her to find the culprit. But the morning after the company holiday party, Harrison is found dead underneath the hotel Christmas tree. The police rule the death an accident, but Keli knows better—and she’ll risk her own rebirth to nab a missing killer.
Keep reading for a special excerpt.
A Kensington mass-market and eBook on sale now!
“Blackmail? Really? Someone is blackmailing Edgar?”
Now there was something you didn’t hear every day. Before I could stop myself, an image flashed to mind: Edindale’s most prominent silver-haired citizen engaged in a steamy, salacious affair. Scandalous! But with whom? I shifted in my leather seat and smoothed my pencil skirt, as I waited for my boss to continue.
Beverly cast a sharp glance at the door to her dark-paneled inner office. It was still closed.
“Let’s not use that word from here on out,” she said. She pressed her lips together, a visible demonstration that mum, not blackmail, was the word.
“Right. Sorry,” I said quickly, though I still wasn’t clear as to why Beverly was telling me this—well, me and my colleague, Crenshaw Davenport III.
Crenshaw cleared his throat from the chair next to me. His long legs were crossed in an elegantly relaxed pose, but I could tell he was just as intrigued as I was. He thrust his bearded chin forward slightly more than usual.
“It’s understandable that Mr. Harrison desires discretion in this matter,” he said, “especially given his recent announcement.” Crenshaw turned toward me and looked down his nose. “Monday was the filing deadline for anyone interested in running for mayor next fall. Edgar Harrison announced his candidacy, along with half a dozen other Edindale residents.”
“I know,” I said evenly, biting back the snarky comment on the tip of my tongue. Crenshaw took every opportunity he could to school me in front of Beverly. It was one of his more annoying habits—one of many. We had both been with the firm for about six and a half years, and lately Beverly kept hinting that someone might be making partner soon. This only served to ramp up the competitive wedge between us.
Beverly removed her red-framed glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose before responding. It had been a long week at the law firm, as everyone tried to finish up as much work as possible before the holidays. Of course, Beverly still looked impeccable in her designer pantsuit and expensive makeup, even if her eyes bore telltale hints of exhaustion.
“As I said, he was contacted by an unknown person who claims to have some information that Edgar would not like to be made public. This person has demanded a large sum of money in exchange for his or her silence. Edgar has until Tuesday to produce the cash.” Beverly paused and looked from Crenshaw to me with a deadpan gaze. “Obviously, the information is not true. Edgar assured me that the person manufactured their so-called evidence. However, they must have done a convincing enough job that it could still damage Edgar’s reputation should it be released.”
I glanced at Crenshaw and saw him raise one eyebrow. He must have been wondering the same thing as me: Why worry about what a blackmailer might reveal if the information is not true?
Beverly held up her palm. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t. I’ve known Edgar a long time. He has no reason to be involved in anything illegal. His businesses are all doing extremely well.”
That was no surprise. Edgar seemed to have a knack for investing in only the most lucrative projects. He owned Edindale’s only riverboat casino, its fanciest hotel, and its trendiest residential developments—among other holdings. But did that necessarily mean everything was on the up and up? Evidently, the blackmailer had information that might indicate otherwise. So much for my steamy affair theory.
“Here’s the deal,” said Beverly, twisting the silver rings on her left hand. She appeared to be choosing her words carefully. “Edgar is convinced that someone hacked into his computer. This person accessed some confidential financial records about some of Edgar’s investments . . . and found a way to twist the truth about the records in a manner that might portray Edgar in a less than favorable light. While Edgar has done nothing illegal, the intricacies of business law are not always easy to explain to the layperson.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Crenshaw nod his head and steeple his fingers under his lips. Oh, sure. As if he already knows what Beverly means, even though she’s being extremely vague. I cleared my throat. “Is that why Edgar came to you instead of the police? Because even the police might have a hard time understanding the legalities?”
Beverly frowned. “Not exactly. It’s more that the information might make Edgar look bad, in spite of the fact that his dealings were technically legal. In any event, Edgar fully intends to go to the police as soon as he has evidence. He already has a couple of suspects in mind . . . which brings me to why I asked the two of you into my office this afternoon.”
“How can I help?” asked Crenshaw.
“How can we help?” I asked, at the same time. I narrowed my eyes and glared at Crenshaw, before turning back to Beverly.
“As Edgar’s attorney and close friend, I agreed to help him figure out who is doing this.” Beverly stood and paced to her window where she paused and looked outside. Snow was falling in slow, lazy swirls. She walked back to us and remained standing. “Of course, I immediately thought of you, Keli, because of your detecting skills. You seem to have a knack for recovering stolen objects and ferreting out criminals. As for you, Crenshaw, in addition to being one of my most trusted lawyers, I believe your acting skills may be useful in this case.” Crenshaw nodded his whole upper body in a seated bow, as if thanking her for a well-deserved compliment. I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
I looked up at Beverly. “How can we possibly figure out who is blackmail—I mean, who is threatening Edgar?”
“The logical place to start is at Edgar’s main office. Harrison Properties has a new IT support specialist, a young, tech-savvy guy named Zeke Marshal. Edgar thinks that if anyone could hack into his secured, password-protected files, this fellow would be the one. The only problem is, Edgar can’t imagine why he would do it. The young man was just hired. He has a bright future ahead of him, in a career that will compensate him well. It doesn’t make sense.”
I nodded, beginning to feel more and more curious myself.
“I’ve arranged for the two of you to set up shop in Edgar’s office for a few days. The ostensible purpose will be to conduct a thorough legal audit of his corporation’s files. In fact, Edgar will be paying you to do just that. His staff will be told this is a proactive measure to ensure the company is in compliance with all relevant business laws. At the same time, you will keep your eyes and ears open, and see what you can learn about Zeke. You’ll start right away. The sooner we can end this headache for Edgar, the better.”
* * *
After leaving Beverly’s office I headed to my own, much smaller office
to gather my coat and purse. Crenshaw and I had agreed to meet downstairs in the lobby in ten minutes and then walk over to Harrison Properties to get started on our strange assignment. Shaking my head, I pushed open my office door and stopped short when I saw what was sitting on my desk: a large gold-colored box, topped with a golden ribbon.
“A delivery guy brought it while you were with Beverly,” said a voice behind me. I turned to see Julie, our twenty-something front desk receptionist, peering over her trendy glasses toward the gold box. “There’s a card, too.”
I smiled at Julie’s eagerness, then walked over to my desk to check out the package. Right away, I noticed the word Godiva embossed on the lid of the box.
“Did someone say chocolate?” I looked up to see Pammy Sullivan standing in my doorway next to Julie. Pammy was a fellow associate with heavily sprayed hair and a stylish, if somewhat gaudy, wardrobe. Today she wore a salmon-pink skirt suit, which matched her lipstick and fingernails. The buttons of her blazer strained ever so slightly across her plump figure.
“Come on in,” I said, laughing. Pammy must have known about the delivery and was just waiting for me to return to my office.
“Ooh, Godiva,” said Pammy, squeezing between the two guest chairs facing my desk to get a look at the gift box. “The nearest Godiva shop is in St. Louis. Someone must have ordered this online, unless they brought it in from out of town. Is it from a client?”
Shrugging, I slipped the small plain card out of the white envelope and furrowed my brow. “I don’t think so,” I said, in answer to Pammy’s question. The card simply said Missed you. It was unsigned.
“Aw,” said Julie, looking over my shoulder. “It must be from that hunky boyfriend of yours. Hasn’t he been out of town?”
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