Wicked Witch Murder (18 page)

L
ucy stood beside the mailbox, staring at the nasty figure of a five-pointed star inside a circle. Was it a joke? Or did it mean something more sinister? Had she—or worse, the girls—been identified as witches? Was it a warning? A threat? Or just a prank? She didn't have a clue, but she sure didn't like it, she decided as she yanked the door down and pulled out the mail. For once, she was relieved to find nothing but a couple of bills. Bills she could handle.

On Thursday, when she met Rachel, Pam, and Sue at Jake's for breakfast, Lucy asked if anybody else had been vandalized. It turned out that she was the only one.

“Maybe it's because Diana was staying with you,” suggested Rachel. “I wouldn't worry about it.”

“So far they've popped up at Diana's shop, Rebecca Wardwell's place, and my mailbox,” said Lucy. “Have you seen them anywhere else?”

Her question was met with blank looks and shakes of the head.

“Now I'm getting worried,” said Lucy. “Why would anybody think I'm a witch?”

“Your personality?” suggested Sue, attempting a joke.

Nobody laughed.

“Maybe you should report it to the police,” suggested Pam.

“Maybe I will,” agreed Lucy.

“Well, speaking of witches,” began Pam, just as their food arrived, “we have really got to get serious about the Halloween Party. It's only ten weeks away, and you know how time flies once school starts again.”

There was a long silence as they dove into their plates of food.

“I see you're all brimming with excitement and full of ideas,” said Pam, biting into a piece of toast.

“Diana offered to tell fortunes,” said Sue, sipping the black coffee that was all she ever ordered.

“I don't know if we can count on her,” said Lucy, stabbing an egg yolk with her fork so it oozed over the corned-beef hash. “She's left town and I don't think she's coming back until this witch business is settled.”

“I can tell fortunes,” said Rachel, spooning up her oatmeal. “How hard can it be? I'll dress like a gypsy and make some stuff up in advance. You will do well on your spelling test if you study hard, stuff like that.”

“That'll amaze and astound them,” said Sue sarcastically, setting down her cup. “To tell the truth, I'm not sure we should go ahead with the party considering the current atmosphere. I've had parents complain about some of the books we have at Little Prodigies, even classics like
Strega Nonna.
”

“I love that book,” exclaimed Rachel.

Pam set her jaw and slapped her palm on the table. “If they don't want to celebrate Halloween, they don't have to come to the party. It's that simple.”

“These days it's never that simple,” said Sue with a sigh. “Some people feel they have to impose their beliefs on everybody else.”

“So what are we going to do?” demanded Pam. “Are we going ahead with the party or what?”

“I say let's go for it,” said Lucy. “I'm not going to let Ike Stoughton—”

“You don't know it was Ike,” protested Rachel.

“Maybe he did or didn't paint the pentagrams, but he is responsible for getting everybody all upset about witches,” said Pam.

“As I was saying,” continued Lucy, “I think we should continue celebrating Halloween just as we always have.”

“That's the spirit!” exclaimed Pam, who had been a cheerleader in high school.

“I agree,” chimed in Rachel.

“Well, I'm certainly not going to be a spoilsport,” said Sue. “So who's going to make the Beastly Bug cookies?”

 

When Lucy left, she'd not only agreed to make six dozen Beastly Bug cookies, two dozen cupcakes, and a dozen marzipan eyeballs, but she had also promised to ask Peter Symonds if he would make balloon animals, as he had in the past when he worked as Malcolm's assistant in the magic show.

That was the first thing she did when she got to work, after greeting Phyllis and looking over a copy of this week's issue, fresh from the printer.

“Any big mistakes? Angry phone calls?” she asked Phyllis.

“Not so far, but His Nibs hasn't come in yet.” She was referring to Ted, who always seemed to find some error that he could berate Lucy and Phyllis about.

Taking advantage of the calm before he arrived, Lucy flipped through her Rolodex until she found Symonds's number. He picked up on the first ring.

“This is Lucy Stone, from the
Pennysaver,
” she began.

“I didn't have anything to say to the cops, and I don't have anything to say to you,” he snapped.

This was not a promising start. “I'm not—” protested Lucy, but he interrupted her.

“And don't come around here, okay? I saw those pictures you took without my permission.”

Lucy had to think a minute before she remembered the before-and-after photos she took of the flood in his backyard. “I took those pictures from the road. I didn't trespass,” she said, defending herself. “And I did knock on your door to let you know, but you weren't home.”

“I don't want you coming around my place,” he said. “Don't do it again, okay?”

“I don't know that I can promise that,” said Lucy. “What if there's a new development in Malcolm's death?”

“Has there been a new development?” he demanded.

“No, not that I know of,” admitted Lucy. “But say they find his killer—wouldn't you want to make a comment? He was your friend and partner for quite a few years, wasn't he?” She paused for breath. “But that's not why I called,” she began, attempting to turn the conversation back to her original purpose, which was asking him to make balloon animals at the party.

“I'm not talking to you anymore,” said Symonds, ending the call.

Stunned, Lucy sat at her desk for a minute or two before she replaced the receiver on the phone. One thing was clear—Symonds was not in a party mood. “That was weird,” she finally said.

“What was?” asked Phyllis, crossing the office with a stack of news releases for Lucy.

Lucy shrugged. “Oh, nothing, I guess. Just a disgruntled reader.”

“Well don't tell Ted about it, okay?” said Phyllis, setting the stack down on Lucy's desk. “These ought to keep you busy for a while.”

“So it would seem,” agreed Lucy, but as she typed in the calendar listings for ham-and-bean suppers and yoga classes and nature talks at the bird sanctuary, her mind kept returning to Symonds. What had gotten into him, she wondered, to change his attitude? Had the cops been questioning him? She assumed they'd paid him a visit when Malcolm's body was discovered, but had they made a repeat visit?

When she left work, Lucy headed over to Diana's place to check that everything was okay. The girls had taken the cat to Friends of Animals, finding it easier to care for him there. Piewocket was a big hit with the day campers and seemed to be having the time of his life. Lucy had gotten into the habit of stopping at Diana's every couple of days, making sure the apartment and store were secure and watering the house plants, which had been moved outside onto a shady deck. She didn't have time to tend the vegetable garden, but she had installed a drip hose and picked the tomatoes and squash as they ripened.

As she approached, she braced herself for an unpleasant discovery—at the very least, she expected the pentagram would have reappeared on Diana's door. But there was nothing to mar the fresh coat of paint Diana had put on before she left for Arizona, and the doors and windows were all locked tight.

Lucy climbed the outside stairs that led to the deck and gently hosed down the plants, which were thriving in the fresh air and sunshine. A Christmas cactus would definitely need repotting soon, she decided, and that pothos would have to be cut back before it could return inside. Another tall plant had tipped over, becoming so top heavy that its root system couldn't support it. As she straightened it up, Lucy recognized it as a belladonna plant, similar to the one Rebecca had, and decided to take it home and give it a bigger pot.

“
Belladonna,
beautiful lady, you must have some fine new clothes,” said Lucy. She was putting the plant in the back of her station wagon when a Popsicle stick identifying the plant fell out. She happened to glance at it as she replaced it in the pot and noticed it read
DEADLY NIGHTSHADE
, not belladonna. She immediately pulled out her cell phone, intending to call Rebecca Wardwell, then remembered with annoyance that the witch didn't have a telephone. She would have to drive over there on the way home.

Rebecca was just wrapping up a sale when Lucy arrived, and she waited until the transaction was completed and the customer had left before she asked Rebecca if deadly nightshade and belladonna were the same plant.

“Yes, they are,” said Rebecca.

“Why didn't you tell me that before?” demanded Lucy. “Deadly nightshade is poisonous!”

Rebecca shrugged. “I thought you knew. Besides, lots of plants are poisonous. Take philodendron for example, or mistletoe. And there's plenty worse than those. Like monkshood.”

Lucy was looking at Rebecca with new eyes. Instead of the sweet eccentric who dressed in quaint clothes, she was seeing a woman who stubbornly marched to her own drummer and had little thought for others.

“You should have told me when I admired the plant,” said Lucy.

“Despite its name, it's very rarely deadly,” said Rebecca, folding her hands in front of herself.

But Lucy wasn't listening. She was already heading back to her car, planning to toss the plant on the compost heap as soon as she got home. But first she had to pick up the girls at Friends of Animals.

“Don't touch that plant!” she warned Zoe when she opened the rear door.

“Why not?” asked Zoe as she slid onto the seat and fastened her seat belt.

“It's poisonous! I didn't know and I was going to repot it for Diana.”

“What are you going to do with it now?” asked Sara, who was riding shotgun.

“I'm going to throw it out,” declared Lucy.

Zoe furrowed her brows, studying the plant on the seat beside her. “Mom, it's a plant. It can't jump up and strangle you or anything.”

“Yeah, Mom,” said Sara. “Don't you think you're being kind of mean? It is a living thing, after all, part of the circle of life.”

“Circle of death is more like it,” muttered Lucy. “It's called deadly nightshade.”

“Are you sure, Mom?” asked Sara.

“Yes, I'm sure. I even asked Rebecca Wardwell. And why are you questioning me?”

“Oh, no reason,” said Sara, who was busy texting on her cell phone. “Oh, phooey,” she declared, snapping the phone shut.

“Bad news?” asked Lucy.

“Yeah. Renee and Sassie and I were going to go over to Abby's tonight to try and cheer her up. She's been awfully depressed since her mother died, and they don't have TV, and she isn't allowed to have a cell phone, even. But we figured we could at least visit at her place, so her father could keep an eye on us and see that we're really good kids.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Lucy, amazed at how kind and thoughtful kids could be. At the same time, she was uneasy about letting the girls spend time at the Stoughton house.

“Yeah, well, she's sick and we can't go over.”

“That's too bad. What's she got? A summer cold?”

“I don't know. Sassie didn't say. She just got a call from Abby's father calling it off.”

“I bet she's not even sick,” said Zoe, piping up in the backseat.

“Yeah,” agreed Sara as Lucy turned into the driveway. “Her father probably figured we'd corrupt her or something.”

 

But as the last days of summer passed and the first day of school drew closer, Abby didn't get better, and when school finally reopened, Abby was absent. For the first few weeks, Sara kept her up to date on homework and reading assignments, but the school eventually appointed Lydia Volpe, a retired teacher, to tutor her at home.

One day in late September, Lucy ran into Lydia in the supermarket and asked how Abby was doing.

Lydia pursed her lips and shook her head, her dark brown eyes enormous. “She's not improving,” she whispered.

“What does the doctor say?”

“The father doesn't believe in medicine, you know. The superintendent is threatening to contact social services, to make him take her to the doctor.” She shrugged. “I've never been in a situation like this before. Usually the family is happy to have me, but not these people. They treat me like I'm carrying typhoid or something.”

“They lost the mother, you know,” said Lucy, looking for an explanation.

“They're going to lose this girl, too, if somebody doesn't intervene,” said Lydia. “She's not eating, only drinks this herbal tea.” She clucked her tongue. “It's terrible. She's wasting away.” Lydia leaned forward, whispering in Lucy's ear, “I think she has anorexia.”

“That's awful,” said Lucy, truly shocked. “I had no idea.”

“God forgive me,” said Lydia, casting her enormous eyes heavenward. “I hate to go there. I dread seeing her all skin and bones like this. I have to make myself go. I tell myself that I'm her only hope.” She shook her head. “I hope the authorities intervene soon.”

“Me too,” said Lucy, deeply troubled. As she finished her shopping and loaded the car, she wondered about Ike and how her opinion of him had changed. When he had first walked into the
Pennysaver
office that day in June, she took him for a regular guy and welcomed him as a neighbor. Then, when she saw him and his family at the cookout, she began to suspect he was a domestic tyrant and that image grew stronger when she learned how Abby and Miriam feared him. She'd discovered his religious bent when the bridge was carried away by the flood and when he began the campaign against witchcraft. More recently, however, she'd begun to feel sorry for him, seeing how he grieved for his wife and began neglecting his property and his appearance. But now that Abby was seriously ill, and he was still refusing to seek medical help for her, she was beginning to suspect that Ike was mentally ill. Taken together, the summer's events seemed to point to a deepening disconnect with reality. She had to agree with Lydia that the sooner the school authorities intervened, the better.