Wicked Witch Murder (4 page)

“I'm Abby Stoughton,” said the girl, confirming Lucy's suspicion. “It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Stone.”

“I met your father today. He said we're neighbors.”

“That's right,” said Abby. “We just moved into a new house down the road, on the other side of the bridge. Well, new to us. The house was built in 1799.”

Lucy sat down on the bed, and Libby rested her chin on her knee. She was beginning to get the picture. The girls had apparently struck up a friendship with their new neighbor, they'd even met her father, but they hadn't bothered to inform her. She had the same unsettling feeling she'd first encountered when Toby, her oldest, began going to kindergarten and was occasionally greeted by people she didn't know. Her first reaction had been suspicion but they usually turned out to be parents of other students who'd visited the class. It was ridiculous, she thought, but she'd never quite come to terms with the idea that her children had lives of their own.

“So what set off the smoke alarms?”

“We were casting a circle,” said Zoe. “We were going to make a spell.”

Lucy's heart sank. “A spell?”

“To get rid of pimples,” volunteered Zoe. “Abby's been collecting rainwater under the moon.”

“Rainwater didn't set off the smoke alarms,” said Lucy.

“No,” confessed Sara. “First we burned a bundle of sage to clear the circle of evil forces.”

Spells, circles, evil forces,
thought Lucy. “This sounds a lot like witchcraft,” she said.

Sara produced a well-thumbed paperback book with a gorgeous, raven-haired woman pictured on the cover.
Witchcraft for Teens
was the title. “I bought it at that new shop in town,” she said. “And the sage bundle too.”

Now, not only was Ike her neighbor, but also her girls had been practicing witchcraft with his daughter. Lucy sat there, stroking the dog and staring at the pink and green braided rug that covered the floor. It occurred to her that so far, Diana Ravenscroft's predictions had been right on target.

“N
ow, Abby,” said Lucy, looking the girl in the eyes, “it just so happens that I saw your father today, and he expressed his deep concern about the presence of Diana Ravenscroft in town. He's very much against any sort of witchcraft, as I'm sure you know. There's absolutely no way I can allow you to come here and do something that your father disapproves of, now, can I?”

“No, Mrs. Stone.” Abby was hanging her head.

“Maybe you should see a dermatologist instead of fooling around with a lot of mumbo jumbo,” suggested Lucy.

“That's just it!” exclaimed the girl angrily. She raised her face, and Lucy saw that her chin was indeed spotted with a few pink bumps. But it was her eyes that caught her attention. Fiercely blue, they were tearing up. “I've begged and begged but my parents won't let me see a doctor. They won't even let me use anything on my face except soap and water!”

“Pimples are just part of being a teenager,” said Lucy. “You'll outgrow them.”

“It's like being cursed,” muttered Abby. “I feel like a leper having to go around like this.”

“I think you're overreacting,” said Lucy. “They're not that noticeable, really.”

“They're disgusting,” exclaimed Abby, beginning to sob.

“Mom's right,” said Sara, handing her a tissue. “You can hardly see them.”

“I hope I never get zits,” said Zoe, getting a sharp look from her mother. “And you have really pretty hair,” she added. “I wish Mom would let me grow my hair long like yours.”

“No, you don't,” said Abby, dabbing her eyes. “I wish I could have short hair, too, but my parents won't let me cut it. It's a pain, having to brush it all the time. It gets all snarly and it hurts.”

“Well, pretty soon you'll be old enough to leave home and do what you want,” said Lucy. “But in the meantime, you have to obey your parents. They're giving you a home and they love you.”

“I know,” grumbled Abby. “It's one of the Ten Commandments: Honor thy father and thy mother.”

“That's right. And it's getting late, almost dinnertime,” reminded Lucy. “Do you need a ride home?”

“No, I've got my bike,” said Abby.

Lucy led the way and they all trooped downstairs. At the kitchen door, Abby paused. “I'm really sorry about the smoke alarm,” she told Lucy.

“It's okay,” said Lucy. “And you're always welcome here, as long as you don't do anything your parents would disapprove of.” As soon as Abby was out the door, Lucy turned on her daughters. “What were you thinking?” she demanded. “Practicing witchcraft! You were supposed to cook supper, not some magic spell!”

“Sorry, Mom,” muttered Sara, opening the refrigerator and pulling out the package of ground chicken.

While Sara emptied it into a bowl, Lucy poured herself a glass of chardonnay. “Set the table, Zoe,” she ordered, seating herself at the kitchen table.

Sara added egg and breadcrumbs and shaped the mixture into little balls, which she set on a baking sheet. Lucy watched, wondering how involved the girls had become with Diana Ravenscroft.

“So how long have you girls been practicing witchcraft?” she asked.

“Not long,” said Sara, keeping her back to Lucy as she worked.

“Weeks? Months?” persisted Lucy. She could hear Zoe thumping plates onto the dining room table.

“I've just gone to a couple of classes,” said Sara.

“Classes?”

“Yeah, Lady Diana has classes for teens. On Wednesdays, after school. It's like a club, like Scouts or gymnastics.”

Lucy was astonished. “I thought you were at track,” she said. “You've been lying to me.”

Sara was very busy with the meatballs, arranging them in neat rows on the pan. “I didn't lie—I just didn't tell you.”

“But why?”

“I don't know.” She turned around and opened the oven door, sliding the meatballs inside and setting the timer for ten minutes. Her face was flushed, and she seemed about to burst into tears. “It was fun having a secret, you know? And witchcraft isn't bad. It's all about appreciating nature and the life force and harnessing natural energy to live a harmonious, spiritual life.”

Lucy bit her lip, thinking. It was obvious that Sara was deeply attracted to whatever Diana was offering, and she thought she understood why. Now that global warming and saving the environment had become such big issues, the girls had been involved in calculating the family's carbon footprint and suggesting ways to reduce it. But more than attempting to live in harmony with nature, Lucy suspected, casting spells and mixing up potions allowed Sara to feel as if she was powerful and could control her life. That was exciting stuff for an adolescent struggling to form her own identity and free herself from her parents.

“Well, I guess there's no harm in it,” she announced. “As long as you keep your father and me informed. No more secrets, okay?”

“So I can join the coven?” exclaimed Sara, wiping her eyes and smiling.

Lucy's jaw dropped. “Coven? You said it was like Girl Scouts.”

“It is,” insisted Sara. “But Lady Diana says I'm really progressing, and soon I'll be able to join the coven and become a real witch. She says there's a vacancy in her coven. Ideally there should be thirteen people, and she'd like me to fill it.”

“I'll have to talk to her,” said Lucy, finishing off her wine. “Forget what I said. No more witchcraft. Everything's on hold until I get more information.”

The oven timer began to beep, announcing it was time to turn the meatballs, but Sara ignored it, whirling around and stomping up the stairs. Lucy got up, resigned to the fact that she would be cooking supper. She hoped that Sara wasn't gathering up the hair from her hairbrush and searching her wastebasket for nail clippings to make an anti-mother spell.

 

On Friday morning, Lucy stopped at Solstice on her way to work. The shop wasn't open yet, but she'd called and made an appointment. Sure enough, Diana was waiting for her, standing in a long silky dress and holding the black cat in her arms.

“Thanks for seeing me so early,” said Lucy, stepping inside the fragrant little shop.

“No problem,” said Diana, scratching the cat behind its ears. “I'm a full-service witch, on call twenty-four seven. Isn't that right, Piewocket?” The cat closed its eyes slowly, basking in the attention. “So how can I help you?”

“I understand my daughter Sara has been coming here after school,” began Lucy. The shop smelled lovely, but Lucy was determined not to be seduced by the charming atmosphere.

“Yes, Sara's a delightful girl, and she's definitely got the gift,” said Diana, sounding like one of Sara's teachers. “She's made wonderful progress, and I think she's ready to join a coven.”

“That's why I'm here,” said Lucy. “She's much too young to do anything like that.”

“Too young?” Diana sounded puzzled as she set the cat on its cushion in the window. “She's sixteen. Children much younger than that have their First Communion in the Catholic Church; Jewish children have their mitzvahs when they're thirteen; Protestants confirm twelve-and thirteen-year-olds. If anything, Wiccans tend to be conservative in these matters, waiting until an individual is mature enough to make a responsible decision.”

“That's the problem. Sara hasn't been responsible. She hid her involvement with Wicca from her father and me, and even worse, she's been helping Abby Stoughton to deceive her parents. I don't know if you're aware of it, but Abby's father, Ike, is very upset with you—this is not the right time for these young girls to get involved with witchcraft.”

“On the contrary, it's actually the perfect time. Tomorrow is Midsummer's Eve. We'll be holding our sabbat and celebrating the longest day of the year. Who could object to that?”

“Oh, I suspect quite a few people might not approve—especially Ike Stoughton,” said Lucy. “He thinks you're worshiping the Devil.”

“Well, I see that I have a lot of work to do. There is absolutely nothing wicked or sinful about Wicca. It draws on centuries of rich, wonderful cultural tradition beginning with the Celtic Druids. Does Ike Stoughton object to hanging mistletoe at Christmas or decorating a Christmas tree?”

“I don't have a clue about how Ike Stoughton celebrates Christmas, or if he even does. I'm not here to argue,” said Lucy, growing impatient with Diana's attitude. “I'm here as Sara's mother, and I'm telling you that I am not allowing her to join your coven, period. End of story. I'm responsible for her, and I deeply resent the way you've insinuated yourself with her and encouraged her to keep secrets from her parents.”

“I have not encouraged Sara to deceive you,” declared Diana. “If she did not want to tell you how important her new beliefs are to her, it's because you don't encourage openness in your home.”

“That's awfully presumptuous,” said Lucy, reacting angrily. “My husband and I may not be perfect parents—I never said we were—but we are trying to bring our kids up to be responsible members of society, and witchcraft is too extreme.”

“That's only because people don't understand it,” insisted Diana, shaking her head sadly.

“My point exactly,” said Lucy in a softer tone. She was already regretting her show of temper. “And until they do, I don't want my child to confuse religious conviction with her admiration for a glamorous and persuasive woman.”

“This isn't about me,” insisted Diana. “Wicca's a religion, not some cult of personality.”

“I think you may be wrong about that, especially when it comes to impressionable teenagers. People are starting to talk about you,” she added, remembering Phyllis's comment that Diana had brought trouble to town.

“So that's what you're worried about,” crowed Diana with a tinkling laugh. “Well, let me assure you, witch hunts are a thing of the past. I don't think you need to worry about anybody persecuting Sara if she decides to become a witch.”

“I thought I made myself clear,” said Lucy, emphasizing every word. “Sara is not joining your coven. I forbid it.”

“Take it easy,” said Diana. “I understand.” She drummed her fingers on a table. “But it is a shame. Midsummer's Eve is a wonderful opportunity to witness a sabbat, and this is my first as high priestess. I really want it to be perfect, which means we need thirteen members. I wonder if Abby…”

Lucy looked at her, trying to decide whether the woman could possibly be this stupid. “Are you crazy?” exclaimed Lucy. “If I were you, I'd keep a low profile for a while—and I'd leave Abby Stoughton alone. Her father has some very strong convictions, and it's not just the purple paint that bothers him. He's very much against witchcraft.”

“Well, thanks for the warning,” said Diana, shrugging. “Now can I interest you in a protective charm? Perhaps a spell to drive the pests from your garden and help the plants to grow? I hear cutworms are a big problem this year.”

“Not today, thanks,” said Lucy, shaking her head. “My garden is doing just fine. But I think you better stay away from Ike Stoughton's daughter!”

 

Back in her car, Lucy felt uneasy as she drove on down Main Street to the
Pennysaver
office. She'd been a reporter for a long time now, covering the little town, and she sensed trouble ahead. Ike Stoughton and Diana Ravenscroft were polar opposites, and there was bound to be friction. Good, healthy controversy was one thing, but when emotions were running high, things could get out of control. She didn't want to see anyone get hurt, and she certainly didn't want Sara to get caught in the cross fire. Maybe, she thought as she parked the car in the little lot behind the office, she was overreacting. But she'd seen the body in the woods, as well as other terrible sights through the years, and she knew that ordinary people were capable of doing dreadful things to each other, especially when they were driven by the conviction that they were right.

“Goodness, you look serious today,” said Phyllis when Lucy walked into the office.

“I was just thinking about the body in the woods,” said Lucy. “Any news?”

“Not yet,” said Phyllis. “Ted's at the press conference. He should be back soon with some answers. In the meantime, he left this for you.” She plopped a thick sheaf of papers on her counter with a thud.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” asked Lucy, examining what appeared to be a highly technical study of the effect of rising ocean temperatures on lobster populations.

“Read it and weep,” wisecracked Phyllis. “No. Read it and recap the information for the average reader.”

“I think you had it right the first time,” said Lucy, heading for her desk.

When Ted arrived an hour or so later, she knew more than she wanted to about the sex life of lobsters.

“How's it going?” he asked, seating himself at his desk and turning on his computer.

“Inconclusive,” said Lucy. “Warmer water may make the lobsters mature sooner and thus reproduce at a faster rate, or it might encourage parasites and disease, which would have a negative effect. What about the press conference?”

“Inconclusive,” replied Ted. “The body is male, but that's all they're about to say at this point. They're checking the missing persons, have some likely matches, but nothing definite yet.”

“These things take time,” said Phyllis, “especially if they have to use DNA.”

“DNA tests are expensive. The ME said that's a last resort.”

“It's so horrible,” said Lucy, remembering the oppressive sense of evil she'd experienced in the clearing. “Nobody should end up like that, no matter who they are.”

 

Saturday afternoon, when Lucy was picking lettuce for a salad to take to the annual neighborhood cookout, she noticed a number of newly planted tomato and pepper seedlings had fallen over and were wilting. When she took a closer look, she realized they'd been neatly nipped off at ground level. Cutworms! She'd never had a problem with them before. What was going on? Was there really a sudden infestation, and how had Diana known about it? And where had she gotten that bit about fire and screams in the night? How could she have known? It was enough to make you wonder, she thought, carrying her bowl of lettuce into the kitchen.