The grim steeper, p.17
The Grim Steeper, page 17
Leo was probably lying low, and I considered stopping by his house to check on him, but I was honestly more worried about finding him not there. If the police had taken him in for questioning, I couldn’t help him avoid that. The fight had happened, and it was inevitable that he was going to be asked about it eventually.
Instead, I bypassed all immediate responsibility and went home.
I released Bob, who headed directly into the living room and made himself comfortable on the back of the couch in a now-permanent Bob-shaped divot. He looked about as happy and cozy as only a napping cat can be. I’d have loved nothing more than to join him for a late-afternoon doze, but my brain wouldn’t turn off.
This new information about Melody and Andrew was helpful, but it wasn’t a smoking gun. I grabbed my laptop and an apple from the bowl on the kitchen counter and plopped down on the sofa. I did a quick search on both Andrew’s and Melody’s names and then their names together. Absolutely zero hits with their names combined; the only thing that seemed to connect them was that their names had both recently appeared in articles in the local paper.
Then I tried to search any connections between Sebastian and the lawyer.
Again, only the newspaper.
Since I couldn’t exactly point to the paper’s sole features writer as the killer, I was left at square one. Whatever the connection between Sebastian and Andrew had been, I couldn’t find it, and I didn’t understand how Melody was involved.
Whatever it was that had brought the three of them together, though, it had been worth killing over.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was another hour before I got a call back from Detective Martin, which was precisely the amount of time it took for me to come up with a compelling but utterly insane theory about Melody and Andrew belonging to a secret society and Sebastian being killed because he’d learned about their connection.
I should never be left to my own devices when there’s an unsolved murder on the line.
Martin came directly over from the police station, and I was pacing the living room when she arrived.
“Let’s have a look at these, then,” she said, following me into the formal dining room. Since I never actually ate in the dining room, it had become sort of a catchall for things I was trying to purge from Eudora’s house but hadn’t found the right new home for yet.
There were stacks of books I knew I’d never read but suspected might have too much value to just donate. Boxes of clothes that weren’t quite my style lined the wall, but again, these were so eclectic—and some of them quite high-end brands—that I thought I might be better doing online consignment than just taking them to goodwill. And then there were Eudora’s papers. I had banker’s boxes stacked three tall lining the whole dining table, and I was only about a quarter of the way through reviewing them.
Considering Eudora had once hidden millions of dollars’ worth of land title deeds in a photo album, there was no way I was just going to shred everything in those boxes without going through it first. Who knew what other secrets she might be hiding?
“Moving in or moving out?” Detective Martin asked, eyeing the fortress of cardboard.
“Moving on,” I replied. “It’s all my aunt’s stuff.”
“Ah. Well, I imagine over her life and in a house this size, she probably amassed a pretty impressive collection.”
“She amassed collections that would put the British Museum to shame.”
“The British Museum doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” Her lip quirked up. She held out her hand for the photos, and I was happy to oblige, giving her the freezer bag I’d been carrying around with me. I’d been scared to let them out of my sight since getting home, as if they might grow legs and wander off of their own free will.
“Did you touch them?” she asked.
“I did. I wasn’t sure what they were until I had them out of the envelope, and I also don’t usually carry around gloves just in case I stumble across evidence.”
“Given your proclivity for stumbling across crime scenes, you might want to start leaving some in your purse.”
Her voice was so deadpan I wasn’t sure if this was a joke or not, but the twinkle in her dark-brown eyes told me there was no malicious intent behind her words. She was teasing me.
At least I had moved beyond the it’s suspicious this woman keeps showing up at crime scenes phase of my relationship with the detective. I’d found my way to her good side, and I hoped that by bringing her this evidence, I might stay there.
“Next time I won’t open any surprise mail, I promise.”
“You don’t happen to have a camera installed behind the store, do you?”
While that would have been wise, considering there had been situations behind the store in the past, it was just another thing on a lengthy to-do list that I hadn’t yet gotten around to.
“I don’t, sorry.”
She shook her head. “I’ll check with your neighbors. If they have something, maybe our delivery person was caught making the drop. Not holding my breath, though.” She had on gloves and was handling each photo individually, tipping it this way and that under the dim light of the overhead chandelier. “I’m also not holding my breath that our shutterbug left any prints on these. I see some, but I suspect those might be yours. We have your prints on file, though, so it’ll be easy to eliminate you.”
A small mercy that made up for how utterly humiliating it had been to get printed in the first place. It didn’t matter that I was perfectly innocent of any crimes; the simple act of being fingerprinted had been enough to make me feel instantly guilty of something. I’d almost confessed to the one time in junior high when I’d stolen a bubblegum lip balm on a dare. I’d admitted it to my mother so quickly I hadn’t even given her an opportunity to suspect something was wrong. I was not cut out for a life of crime.
“Thank you for sharing these with me, Phoebe. I hope this will help us, and it certainly sheds some interesting light on the case, I can’t deny that.”
“Did you find anything at the sanctuary?”
“You know I can’t tell you that.”
“Did you find Melody?”
“No, she never did come back to the inn last night; we had a cruiser out front and an officer inside. Her things are still there, however, and we think it’ll only be a matter of time before she has no choice but to show her face. We didn’t find any sign of those gloves you mentioned, though. Or any bank statements.”
Well, that was interesting. Maybe Melody had tried to ditch the gloves.
“What about Deacon?”
She shook her head. “In the wind too, I’m afraid. You think he might be responsible for these?” She tapped the bag of photos.
That actually hadn’t occurred to me, but it made sense. “It wouldn’t be the first time he targeted me as a possible ally. Considering how he showed up here a couple days ago, there’s a chance he might think of me as someone trustworthy.”
“Well, if he should reach out to you again, be careful but keep him close. I’m not sure who is to blame for these murders, and this investigation keeps getting messier by the day, but I would very much like a chance to chat with both him and his friend Melody.”
Part of me wondered, perhaps morbidly, if the reason we couldn’t find both of the cases’ best suspects was because one of them had taken the other out. I didn’t say this out loud, but based on the grim expression Detective Martin was wearing, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was thinking the same thing.
Detective Martin donned a RCPD ballcap and tipped the brim in my direction before reminding me to be careful.
“Seriously, Phoebe, keep your eyes open, but keep your guard up. Someone, or more than one someone in this case, knows you’re involved, and that could make you a target. The second you don’t feel safe, I want you to call me, and if I don’t answer, call the station directly, okay? Please take this seriously.”
“Trust me, I am.”
She disappeared into the rainy night, leaving me alone in my big house as dusk fell over the town. I would listen to her warning, but my curiosity about the case far outweighed any concerns I had over my personal safety. I didn’t believe whoever had left me the photos had done so as a threatening gesture. I thought they’d done it because they believed I could help.
Which brought me back to Detective Martin’s question about Deacon. Was it possible he had been out in the woods at the same time as me and captured the argument? And if that was the case, had he been out there following Melody, or had he been following me?
That last question gave me enough pause that I went to double-check my locks for the third or fourth time that evening. I might not be an obvious target for the killer, but that didn’t mean I wanted to make myself an easy target if that changed.
Dinner would be leftover sourdough, since I had a fridge full of tuna and egg salad and two full loaves of bread. I’d made Imogen promise to take home the other two. I couldn’t believe how quiet the day had been. It made me all the more grateful for our beautiful weather on Independence Day, which meant we’d made more than enough money to guarantee that a few slow days weren’t going to hurt our bottom line.
The bad weather also hadn’t done anything to dampen our online sales. I was going to need to set aside a good chunk of my day tomorrow to catch up on those, because there were too many to just leave them for another day.
Plus we were finally getting our first kitty guests from the Barneswood Humane Society, and despite all the other messy business in my life, I was super excited to see which cats would be coming to stay with us at the store.
I was just about to sit down to a tasty dinner sandwich when my phone pinged to alert me to a new text.
Honey’s name was on the screen.
Can we come over? My mom might have an idea about your little … problem.
Recalling how lucky I’d been with Dierdre’s lack of observation this morning, I knew this was an offer I couldn’t turn down.
I’m home, come on by.
Honey replied immediately. Hope you’re hungry because Mama has been in the kitchen all day.
Magic and a hot meal?
Maybe this day was turning around after all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Honey and Karma arrived about fifteen minutes later, both huddled under one umbrella. Honey was carrying an overstuffed tote bag that appeared to be filled with Tupperware containers. I ushered them in from the front porch and took them into the sitting room.
As nice as the living room was for watching TV, it wasn’t the ideal location for an actual conversation. The couches were too soft, and the layout of the room made it difficult to talk to more than one other person.
I almost never used the sitting room, so it was still set up exactly the same as Eudora had left it. I had lit a fire in the massive fireplace that was connected to both the sitting room and kitchen, because the drafty old house was having temperature mood swings and even though it had been sticky hot the previous day, there was now a distinct chill in the air thanks to all the rain. The fire made the sitting room feel cozy, and I loved the smell of burning wood.
Through the two grates I could see Bob curled up in his bed on the hearth in the kitchen.
Honey handed me one Tupperware container after another, describing each dish as she went. “That’s honey jalapeño corn bread. That’s shrimp with dirty rice. This one is akara.” She shook a container that appeared to be filled with golden-brown coins. “They’re deep-friend patties made of black-eyed peas. You’ll love them. And this, this is chicken mafé. Phoebe, let me tell you …” She made a little chef’s kiss gesture. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had my mama’s chicken mafé. You’re not allergic to peanut butter, are you?”
While I didn’t immediately know how peanut butter was involved, I assured her I was totally fine to eat it. The container with the chicken was still warm to the touch, and when I opened the lid, my mouth immediately began watering. The chicken was coated in a reddish-gold sauce, and there appeared to be a stew-like mixture of vegetables cut up with the meat: carrots, onion, potato. The scent was heavenly, a little sweet with hints of tomato, ginger, and something perhaps a little umami, maybe fish sauce?
Whatever it was, I couldn’t resist the urge to snatch out a cube of potato and pop it into my mouth. If I’d thought the smell was good, the flavor was beyond comprehension. I’d been about to eat a tuna salad sandwich for dinner when food like this was an option? It was sweet, salty, rich, and creamy. The spices sang, and even the bed of rice the whole meal was settled on was the fluffiest I’d ever seen.
Heaven in a Tupperware container.
“This is incredible. I can’t thank you enough.” I closed the lid and set all the food on the coffee table, knowing full well that the instant I locked the door behind them I was going to turn into a pure glutton and just sit on the floor with a fork in one hand and a napkin in the other, devouring everything in sight.
Bob must have smelled the chicken, because he had snuck into the room at some point and was pointedly sniffing his way around the table.
“None for you, mister,” I scolded. But everyone in this room knew he’d get to try some when I finally sat down to eat.
“You girls are too skinny. I don’t know what this town is feeding you. I said to Honey, I said, ‘Baby, you need to eat some proper home cooking, because you’re wasting away to nothing.’ And so I made something nice for her, and for you.”
“Thank you, Karma. This all looks insanely good.”
“You’re welcome, baby. Now I’m sure what you really want isn’t comfort food, so let’s get down to business. I do my best thinking while I’m in the kitchen, so all day today I was thinking to myself, Karma, how are you going to help that poor girl? And somewhere between the dirty rice and the mafé, it came to me.” She clapped her hands together loudly, spooking Bob, who had climbed up onto the table to investigate the shrimp. He darted out of the room.
“Mama, you’re scaring the cat,” Honey scolded.
“Oh, pshh, he’s a big boy, he’ll be okay.”
Indeed, Bob poked his head back around the corner not even a minute later, the siren song of shrimp simply too powerful for him to stay away.
“How are you going to help me fix my problem?” I asked, steering us back toward the subject that had brought them here tonight. I didn’t want to be rude, but the promise of no longer making random objects around me start floating was too enticing to ignore.
“Witches usually grow out of our magical hiccups pretty quickly as teens,” Honey started.
“But because you started so late in the game, your magic is having a hard time adjusting,” Karma explained.
“Yes, I think we got that part figured out already. But aside from going back in time and telling teenage Phoebe she’s a witch, what else can we do to help me through this midlife magical puberty?”
Honey snorted, but Karma didn’t seem to think my joke was very funny.
“I’d tell you to get a little therapy or go on some good antianxiety medication if I thought we had time for that.” She clucked her tongue at me.
I might have found her suggestion offensive at a different point in my life, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered medication a few times while dealing with this. A little Xanax every now and then would probably stop me from sending fruit levitating in my kitchen.
“What we need to do is tell your magic not to worry so much,” Karma said.
Honey nodded along.
I was completely lost.
“I’m sorry, you want me to … have a heart-to-heart with my powers?”
“In a sense.” Karma started to pull more things out of the tote bag that had been nestled under all the food. There was a huge chunk of smoky quartz, a mason jar filled with water, several freezer bags packed with dried herbs, a whole box of salt, at least a dozen candles, and a sharp-looking bronze blade that Honey had told me once was called an athame. They were ceremonial knives used by some witches, depending on their practice. “Honey, help me with the table.”
Honey got up from her armchair, and the two women moved my hefty coffee table off to the side of the room.
“Okay, you can sit right here, sweetheart.” Karma tapped her toe on the center of Eudora’s huge Persian rug.
I did as I was told, even though I still had no idea what was happening. They wanted me to talk to my power? While I understood that magic was a strange thing to have control over, I had never thought it was a sentient thing that I could just hold a conversation with.
Surely there was more to this than what Karma was suggesting.
I just needed to trust the process.
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the carpet, I immediately set my hands on my thighs like I was about to start meditating. I wasn’t much for mindfulness, but I’d apparently watched enough YouTube videos that I thought this was the best way to sit. I was ready for yoga but not a tête-à-tête with my witchy powers.
“You got a good vacuum?” Karma asked, picking up the box of salt from the table.
“Uh, pretty good, I guess?”
“Okay, good.” Then she set about pouring the salt directly onto the rug.
I almost made a noise of protest but bit down on my cheek before it emerged. I had to trust that Karma knew what she was doing. She’d been a witch for decades longer than I had and had raised one of the smartest women I knew. If anyone was going to have an idea of how to fix this, it would be her, so I let her continue with her efforts.
My Roomba was going to have a field day with this later.
Next to Karma, Honey was lighting the small white candles they had brought with them. She followed behind her mother, who was drawing a circle of salt around me, and Honey placed five candles at equal distances around the circle.
