All Hallows Eve: A Krewe of Hunters Novella (1001 Dark Nights) (5 page)

Jamie stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re in on everything happening. Santeria, voodoo. What else is there that we need to know about?”

The older man sighed and shrugged. “We do have two voodoo priestesses in town. They read tarot cards and do palm reading. But that’s not new for Salem, as you know. A few neighbors have complained about chickens. I assume they’re being used in their services.”

“And the Wiccans? Have you heard of anything troubling there?”

“They’re like any group, squabbling now and then.”

“Were any of the groups upset about the things going on at the mortuary?” Sam asked.

“Now that I think of it, there was a town meeting. Quite honestly, it was all the usual. A woman complaining that having the mortuary be a theme park attraction for Halloween made fun of witchcraft. She objected to the image of everyone who practiced the Wiccan religion being portrayed as a broom-riding, warty old woman. Someone else was complaining that the haunted house took away from the historic value of the town. Another guy gave a great oratory about the freedom of being in America. Be Wiccan, a Buddhist, whatever, and accept all else. Some clapped for him, some said freedom came with responsibility and respect. But cooler heads prevailed. It’s Halloween and every self-respecting town has to have a great haunted attraction. Besides, Salem makes a lot of money at Halloween.”

“Think you can make us a list of names of people who seemed to be heading toward the fanatical stage on their speeches?” Sam asked.

“Absolutely.”

“You talked to Jackson?” Jenna asked Sam.

He nodded. “Devin Lyle and Craig Rockwell are going to come straight here from a situation in San Diego. They’ll be here by tomorrow night, or the next morning at the latest.”

“That’s Halloween,” Jenna said.

“I’m off,” Sam said, smiling at the other two. “Care to join me?”

“And where are you going, and what do you think you can discover at this time of night?” Uncle Jamie asked.

“Angela and the home office are online, seeing what they can find out. Thankfully, everyone has a blog or is on Facebook these days. They like to bitch, so we may find something out through their posts. So where else does one get the skinny on what’s happening? The best local bar in the center of the action. Except, what would that be now? Hard to say. So I’ll just hop from one bar to another and see what’s there.”

Chapter 3

“There,” Jenna said, motioning with her head.

“Where, what?” Sam asked.

They’d entered a relatively new place on Essex Street called The Sorcerer’s Brew. Nicely adorned with lots of carved wood and old kegs and trunks for tables and seats. The menu was full of old standards like clam chowder, scrod, fish, meat and chicken, many done up blackened, with cilantro or sriracha sauce. The signature cocktail was also called The Sorcerer’s Brew, and they had taps for twenty different beers on draft.

Definitely a tourist stop.

The Peabody Essex museum was just down the street along with a number of the historic houses open to the public. Ghost tours left from the front of nearby shops and a number of store windows offered haunted mazes, 3-D haunted experiences, and slightly twisted versions of the ghosts of Salem, all which utilized various scenes of the condemned coming back to life to curse those who’d accused them. Like most new places that sprang up, the locals checked in now and then. Especially at Halloween, when they were working late and craved a quick bite, a drink, or a cup of tea after work.

Sam followed Jenna’s pointed finger and saw a pair of young women seated in a carved wooden booth toward the windows at the front of the restaurant. He followed her as she moved through the crowd.

“Who are they?” he asked.

“Old friends,” she told him, and then she grinned. “Actually, you know them. You chaperoned all of us one day years ago.”

And he remembered. Part of the teenage wild gang.

“Stephanie,” Jenna said. “Audra.”

The two women turned, then both sprang to their feet. There was a lot of gushing and hugs. Sam stood by and waited, then he was introduced. Stephanie had long dark hair and was dressed in black jeans and a black sweater. Audra too had long hair, dressed in a black-tailored shirt and long skirt. Stephanie still looked like a girl with big brown eyes and a gamine-like face. Audra cast a more sophisticated appearance.

“My God,” Stephanie said, giving him a hug. “I’d heard you two were together now. I didn’t get to see either of you when you were here on that awful Lexington House case. But, oh, a big-time lawyer, eh? Do you remember us? Audra and I were the other kids you had to watch that day. We tormented you, didn’t we? But we all had these massive crushes on you. It’s great to see you. Are you moving back?”

“Of course, I remember both of you,” Sam said, lying. Actually, he didn’t remember either of them, only Jenna. “It’s great to see you. And no, we’re not moving back. We’re just here to visit.”

“Sit down, join us, can you?” Audra asked.

Sam took a seat on the wooden bench next to Stephanie. Jenna slid beside Audra.

“We know why you’re here,” Audra said.

“We do?” Stephanie said. “I actually don’t. What’s going on?”

Audra drew an elegantly polished purple nail along the sweat on her beer mug. “The death at the mortuary. Elyssa Adair found the body.”

“That’s true,” Sam said.

Jenna looked at him, shrugged, and went with his direction. “She was upset and called me. So that’s why we’re here.”

“The whole thing is a little strange, isn’t it?” Sam said.

Audra agreed with a shrug. “If that’s what I did for a living, manage haunted houses, and I decided to do it all in, I would think that doing something like that would be a great final statement to the world.”

Stephanie gasped. “You don’t think he committed suicide, do you?”

“We don’t really know anything at all,” Sam said. “We’re just here with the family.”

“Did you two get married?” Stephanie asked.

“Not yet,” Sam said. “But it’s coming. What do you two know about the mortuary and the haunted house? Anything odd going on there?”

“You mean besides a man found hanged to death?” Audra asked.

“Yeah. Besides that.”

Stephanie shrugged and said, “The paranormal people aren’t happy about renting to the haunted house people. They’re above all that, you know. And the haunted house people just think that the paranormal people are crazy. Micah is kind of a self-important jerk and Jeannette Mackey thinks that she’s a serious psychic and that all the Wiccan palm and tarot readers in town are idiots. But when it comes to keeping the mortuary going, they force themselves to get along. Oh, my God. You don’t think Micah murdered him, do you?”

“We don’t know what to think,” Sam said.

“But you’ve come home to solve this murder, haven’t you?” Stephanie asked. “This is your home, Sam, right?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

Jenna looked at Audra. “Are you in a coven?”

“I practice Wicca, but no, I’m not in a coven. I like practicing the tenets on my own. A lot of people don’t really practice, they just join covens and then charge for tarot and palm readings and whatever else. Then they charge to be mentors. I don’t like the charging part of it, so I practice on my own.”

“Oh, come on, there are good covens in the area,” Stephanie said.

“Some,” Audra agreed. “But only a few.”

“So do Wiccans argue with each other?” Sam asked.

“The only argument I know about is between Gloria Day and Tandy Whitehall,” Audra said. “Old school versus new school, and all about money. Gloria runs the Silver Moon Festival throughout October. Tandy is much younger and has started doing some really wickedly wild parties. They’re always vying for the most publicity. Everyone else is divided. Some support the new, others the old. But mainly they just bitch about each other privately.”

“Then there’s that idiot who went to court to support the drunk who killed a guy in the crosswalk. Said he was a warlock and that he was going to hex everyone,” Stephanie said.

“Male witches aren’t warlocks. They’re witches, right?” Sam said, frowning.

“They are,” Audra agreed, flicking a hand in the air. “At least, in my circles they are. But there are zillions of diverse ways to be a Wiccan or practice the Old Religion. There’s Shamanic, Celtic, Gardnerian, and more, not to mention paganism, Pantheists, and Druids. What we all have in common is a love and respect for nature. Most of the holidays are about the same, speaking of which, Halloween is Samhain to us.

“Anything else going on?” Sam asked.

“I need another beer if we’re going to play twenty questions,” Stephanie said. “And you two haven’t had anything to drink yet. What’s happened to the service around here?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Sam said. “I guess they’re swamped. What are you all drinking?”

“Local brew. Black Witches Ale. Give it a try,” Stephanie said.

“Okay, four mugs of Black Witches Ale coming up.”

Sam walked over to the bar and waited his turn, observing those who were there, some in street clothes, others in partial costume. Those were the ones who worked at the historical or Halloween venues, glad to be out of Puritan or creature garb for the night.

“Every place in Salem,” an older man next to him said, and sighed. He shook his head, then glanced at Sam apologetically, as if realizing he’d spoken aloud. “Sorry––commercialism! Good for Salem, hard on those who live here!”

“It is almost Halloween,” Sam said.

“Can’t wait until it’s over.”

Sam offered his hand and introduced himself. “I’m from here; home for a visit with some family of a friend.”

They shook hands.

“The place has changed. I remember when Laurie Cabot started up with the first witch shop. You would have been young.”

“I remember,” Sam said.

“Nowadays, we got everything. This morning, damn if there wasn’t a chicken head out on the embankment by my place.”

Sam asked him where he lived, which was just a few blocks down from where they were, not far from the Elizabeth Montgomery
Bewitched
statue.

“We have Creole neighbors. Don’t know what they’re practicing, but come on, chicken heads?” The man sighed again. “My wife does say that Mrs. DuPont makes a heck of a chicken pot pie, though. Chicken heads and suicides. I’m telling you, the real stuff going on here now is worse than Halloween. Good for the economy, but crazy for regular folks.”

“You’re referring to John Bradbury’s death?” Sam asked.

“I am. Sad thing. Nice guy. He’d come in here now and then. I’m a realtor and have some late nights. Anyway, Bradbury was always excited about bringing his artistic craft home to Salem. That’s what he called it. He loved the old mortuary up there. He told me he wished he could buy it and, if ever he could, he’d turn it into a permanent attraction. Put more history in it, that kind of a thing. He loved the history of Halloween and how the Christian church managed to combine with the pagan ways.”

The harried bartender came to them and Sam let the older man place his order first, then asked for the beers. The man thanked him and told Sam he’d be seeing him and moved on. As Sam collected the four steins of Black Witches Ale, he heard a couple at the bar arguing.

“Don’t do it,” the man warned.

“She’s a bitch, and I’m going to take her down,” the woman said defiantly.

“You’re being ridiculous. There are enough people here to make everyone successful and happy. And, besides, that has nothing to do with practicing what we believe.”

“It has to do with pride and with that nasty little bitch Gloria Day trying to take over from everyone else.”

“Stop talking,” the man said. “Someone will hear you.”

“Maybe someone out there is practicing black magic. Not a Wiccan religion, but pure Satanism. Bradbury talked against her, and look where he is.”

“It was a suicide,” the man said.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Sam pretended to get thrown against the man’s arm. When the fellow turned to look at him, he quickly apologized. “Sorry. It’s so busy in here.”

“It’s okay,” the man said.

“I don’t remember it being this crazy. I’m from here, but…wow. Sam Hall, by the way. Nice to meet you, since I nearly sloshed beer on you.”

The man frowned. “Sam Hall. You’re that big-time attorney. Sorry, I’m David Cromwell and this is my wife, Lydia.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Sam said and decided not to tell them that he wasn’t really practicing law anymore. “By the way, what should I do on Halloween? I hear there are all kinds of things going on and since I haven’t been home in ages, I wouldn’t mind some advice.”

“Tandy Whitehall’s Moonlight Madness,” Lydia said. “Tandy has been here forever and she’s the real deal. She gets fabulous bands and, if you get a reading at the party, it’ll be a good one. It’s just lovely.”

David Cromwell had lowered his head and was gritting his teeth. Bingo. Sam knew that he had hit the core of their argument. Lydia was a huge Tandy Whitehall fan. In the morning, he’d find out how vicious and divisive that fight might be. John Bradbury was dead, and he’d apparently been vocal against the usurper as well.

“Thanks so much,” Sam said.

He headed back to the table with the beers. Stephanie and Audra were bringing Jenna up to date on what was going on with their families. They all paused to thank him as he returned.

“Slow waiter,” Jenna teased, looking at him.

He sensed she was ready to go, as he’d caught her glance at him while he talked to the Cromwells at the bar. A few minutes later, Jenna yawned and said that they needed to get some sleep.

“And who knows? Uncle Jamie might still have a curfew going for me.”

Audra said, “If you think we can help you in any way, please, don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“Thanks,” Sam said.

“Don’t look now,” Audra said, “but that’s Jeannette Mackey. See the athletic looking woman who just went up to the bar? She’s Micah Aldridge’s VP or whatever for the paranormal part of the mortuary.”

“Really?” Sam muttered.

“I know her,” Audra said. “She’s older than we are by several years, but I know I’ve met her a few times. She was on the news a lot, even in Boston. Interviewed on her views on the past and the present and parapsychology.”