Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) (21 page)

“How did she die?”

“On a case,” Wendy said simply, her voice was more weary than bitter. “A Ghoul had used magic to kidnap a young girl. Wanted money, I think. Something stupid and wasteful, anyway. My mother found out where he was holding her and went to get her back. Alone. She didn't come out again.”

Ian knew there was nothing he could say about her mother's death that she hadn't heard a thousand times since it happened. Instead, he asked, “Did she get the girl back?”

A very small but happy smile graced her features. “Yeah, she did. While my mom kept the Ghoul busy, the girl got away.”

“I guess I understand why you didn't want to join the business,” Ian tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

Wendy shrugged and swiped at her leaky eyes and nose. “I shouldn't blame Gerry. It wasn't his fault. It doesn't even make sense to blame the business, really.”

Ian tightened the blanket around her feet. “Grief isn't logical,” he said.

Twelve

Every part of her body screamed in agony. Her chest burned under the extreme pressure; her ribs felt like they were cracking down the center while her heart thudded violently against its weakening cage. A visceral, animalistic yell tore out of her throat until it was raw, and her voice gave out. All that emerged at the moment when her bones finally snapped was a hoarse groan.

The spasm at the finale of the dream woke Wendy from a light and fitful sleep. After Benny's funeral, Ian had stayed for dinner and into the evening. He'd left finally, though reluctantly, and Wendy had gone straight to bed. Unfortunately dreams had plagued her all night, like the one that had just woken her where she was being crushed to death under an enormous stone. She used to have nightmares, long ago when she was small, but she had thought they were gone for good. All this talk of death and evil magic was starting to get to her.

Half dazed from lack of sleep, Wendy went about her morning routine on autopilot. She managed to shower and dress without ever fully opening her eyes. The first hot cup of coffee brought her mostly into wakefulness, and she was at least paying attention by the time she got in her car to drive to work.

When she walked into the library, it wasn't empty, like she had expected. "Oh, hi Carrie. What are you doing here?"

Carrie was huddled behind the desk. Her face was puffy, red, and contorted like she'd been crying for hours without end.

Wendy's voiced pitched lower. "Carrie, what's the matter?"

Carrie looked up, her eyes wide and blank. "I didn't know anyone was here."

"I didn't mean to startle you. What's wrong?”

"I'm fine," she leaned over and opened desk drawers.

Wendy remembered seeing Carrie at the funeral the day before. "I had no idea you were so close," she whispered mostly to herself.

Carrie started violently. "What do you mean?"

Wendy took a few steps closer until she was right in front of the desk. "You and Benny. I saw you at the funeral. I didn't know you were so close."

"Right," Carrie crossed her arms over her chest. "We were friends."

Wendy thought that it might help her to talk about it. She had never seen Carrie so upset. "How long had you known him?"

"Not long," she
managed to get out as her bottom lip quivered. Her movements quick and jerky, she gathered a stack of books into her arms and brushed past Wendy.

Wendy walked back to her own office, shaking her head. She sank into her desk chair and pulled open the bottom drawer. There was a strange humming noise coming from the interior, and it took several seconds for her to realize what it was.

"Ugh. This phone!" She lifted it out of the drawer and was sorely tempted to throw it across the room. She waited just long enough to get curious, and then the phone on her desk started to ring.

Wendy slid her finger across her cell phone's screen. Instead of a conversation, she heard an echo of the phone that was ringing in front of her.

Archer's voice was just audible over the shrill tone. "The question is, will she answer?"

Wendy heard a click as the voicemail took over, and her own message echoed in her ear and in her office.

"This is Wendy Lightower. I am on the phone or away from my desk. Please leave a message, and I will return your call."

She heard Archer take a deep breath, and then he started to talk.

"Hi, Wendy. It's Archer. I had a good time the other night. I don't really know what happened, or really understand any of it. But the truth is that I like you, even if you are a little confusing. It seems I wasn't wrong when I said you were interesting. Okay, call me back."

As the phone went silent next to her ear, Wendy found that she was smiling.

Wendy worked in her office until lunchtime. The loud grumbling of her stomach alerted her to the fact that she had forgotten to eat breakfast and hadn't packed a lunch. She grabbed her purse, leaving her phone when it started humming again in her hand. She made a mental note to ask Gerry how to take the charm off Archer's phone. If it involved buying a new phone, she was not going to be happy.

The moment she left her office, she heard Derek's booming voice thundering through the library. Luckily, there were no visitors around to hear his shouting, but still, Wendy prepared her most disapproving frown and followed the sound of his voice.

“What are you doing back here?” he demanded of someone. “If you aren't there to direct them how will anyone know where to find my exhibit?”

Wendy stepped in just in time to see Carrie scurrying away from Derek. He was in his element, arrogant, brusque, and just plain rude, and he actually looked pleased with himself.

“Aside from the half dozen signs you hung in front of the building and in the entry way?” Derek turned his wrath onto her, but she matched him scowl for scowl. “The building is only three rooms, Derek. I hardly think yelling at my intern will produce more visitors.”

To her utter aggravation, he actually grinned at her. “You know I like to keep the peons on their toes.”

Wendy shook her head. She'd known him too long to be all that mad at his behavior, deplorable though it was. “I'm going out to lunch,” she told him. “Try not to scare anyone to death while I'm gone.”

Wendy was on her way back an hour later, full and very satisfied with her lunch choice of burger and fries. The first sign she had that something was wrong was when she walked around the corner to find two police cars parked in front of the library with lights flashing. She ran the last few steps to the front door. A young man with crew cut hair and wearing an officer's uniform stopped her with an outstretched arm. “You can't go in there.”

Wendy struggled against the brawny, hairy arm. “I work here.”

To the officer, it sounded like a feeble, hysterical statement, but Wendy knew what it meant. For five years, the library and museum had been her home, and the people who worked there, her family. She knew, with a gut wrenching certainty, that something terrible had happened.

“It's okay, officer. Let her go.” Detective Milton emerged from the darkness into the light of day like Wendy's savior. Wendy lurched past the officer's lowered physical barrier and nearly fell into Milton's outstretched arms.

“What happened?” Wendy began to feel lightheaded, but she shook it off as Milton righted her on her feet.

“There's been another murder.”

Wendy buckled over at the waist, leaning over the ramp's railing as her body was racked by dry heaving. Images of Magda's dead, staring eyes followed a picture of Carrie's smoldering corpse in her mind.

“Who?” she croaked. “How?” It was the middle of the day; anyone and everyone should have been inside working.

Milton was subdued. “Follow me.”

Wendy tracked behind him like a shadow, unfeeling and unaware. She saw the library pass by like the set of a bad B-list movie, grainy and out of focus. Only when they left her domain behind and they entered the museum did the truth begin to penetrate the foggy depths of her thoughts.

“Not the library?” the words stumbled out of her mouth. Milton hardly looked back.

“No, we found him in here.” There would only be one
him
in the building. He was prone on his office floor, his arms and legs splayed awkwardly out around him, like a demented snow angel. His skull was flattened beyond recognition, but still Wendy knew.

“Derek,” she whimpered.

“I will note that as identification of the body.

She didn't even hear him. Tears poured freely down her face, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from Derek's broken and battered form.

“He's been crushed,” her voice didn't sound like her own.

Milton was pulling her away from the sight. “I know. Come on, Wendy. I know.” He made low, soothing noises like an adult makes for a hysterical child.

Out of sight of Derek's mangled body, Wendy was able to take deep, calming breaths and become nearly in control of herself again. As she spoke, she hiccupped between every few words, but she simply couldn't stop herself.

“When did you find him?” The question came out broken and incoherent, and she took a few more breaths.

“One of the tourists found him twenty minutes ago. I've been trying to call you.”

“Didn't have my phone,” Wendy explained, although she was fairly certain that he didn't care about her phone.

Milton took her by the shoulders and shook her. Hard. “Wendy, listen to me. I need you to focus.”

Wendy felt her head flop back and forth from the force of his shaking until she was certain her neck would snap.

“Okay,” she said. Then, a little louder, she repeated, “Okay!”

Milton released her, and Wendy rubbed her neck.

“You didn't have to shake me so hard,” she accused.

Milton didn't look at all apologetic. “You were becoming hysterical.”

“I was?” she scoffed.

“Wendy, this is getting out of hand. If we don't find the killer soon...” he trailed off.

She knew that the stakes were rising, and she could imagine the repercussions if she didn't find the killer. “Outside pressure. National press. FBI,” she listed.

“So, focus. You knew the victim personally. You know this place. Help me.”

Wendy took a deep breath, willing herself to possess a calm that she didn't really feel. To herself, she thought about Benny, found just feet away from where Derek's body now waited to be photographed by crime scene techs. On the wall behind her was a photograph of Nathan Braun from his tenure as a member of the museum's board of trustees. "It can't be a coincidence," she said aloud. "There has to be a connection."

Wendy stood in the center of the room and spun slowly around. It was all how she remembered it. On the second pass, one case caught her eye. Wendy moved slowly to the glass fronted case, the same one that contained the town register she had restored before the exhibit opened. She almost started crying when she remembered the way that Derek had actually complimented her on the work. He hadn't been the easiest man to get along with, being both egotistical and difficult, but she would miss him nonetheless. After five years of working together, she had understood that underneath the ego and the demanding posture, Derek had his own brand of loyalty, and he was excellent at his job.

The exhibit section that had caught her eye detailed the local witch trials, which had happened around the time of the town's inception. The case was full of artifacts from the founding of the town. She read through the information, not for the first time. Eight people were killed for witchcraft in 1693. It hadn't registered with her before how incredibly violent this part of the exhibit really was. She remembered seeing a few children hovering around this section and suddenly found herself wondering about their parents. There were descriptions and pictures of interrogation techniques where the suspect was “prest” by stones until she confessed. A gruesome account of death by fire followed the conviction of a woman for heinous acts of dark magic against children and animals. Most were hanged, of course, which was so brutal in in the very commonness of it.

Hanging, fire, pressing by stones. The words repeated in her mind with all subtlety of an enormous bell. Benny had all the signs of death by hanging; Braun had been burned to death in his office chair; Derek looked like he'd been pummeled to death. Sickened and excited, Wendy put the pieces together in her own mind. The Ghoul, whoever he was, was acting out the atrocities of the witch trials.

She was about to turn away, to tell Milton of the connection between the victims if not why they were chosen, when something caught her eye. There was a blank space in the bottom right corner of the nearest case. Derek was fastidious in the way he made displays; he would never have left such an unsightly gap in the artifacts.

Something was missing.

The case had a placard that listed all the contents. She ran down the list, matching words with items. The missing piece, when she determined what it was, left her more confused than before. According to the inventory, it was a ring but not of precious metal or anything even remotely valuable. It was plaited hair, twisted into a ring as a keepsake.

Another card was fixed above the case. It provided more information about the ring.

This keepsake ring belonged to Hester Cline, tried for witchcraft in 1693.

A ring of hair from a dead witch was taken from the scene of a magical murder. Only then did Wendy remember the name.

Hester. Might be a family name.

“There's something missing here,” Wendy called out to Milton. He was at her side in seconds, reading the card with a frown.

“A ring made out of hair?” he asked. “Why would anyone want to take that?”

Wendy waited a beat before answering. “I have absolutely no idea.”

Wendy walked slowly back to her house. Thoughts of the case swirled around her mind like a blender on high. It was impossible now that there was no connection to the library. The exhibit was the common thread. Benny was found there. Braun was instrumental in getting it started. Derek ran it. Something about that exhibit meant three people were dead. When she reached her door, she found it unlocked and saw Ian and Magda waiting for her inside.