Southern fury, p.4
Southern Fury, page 4
Lena pressed two fingers against the corner of her eye and rubbed small circles. With a sigh, she said, “Grandma Mobley has been alive a long, long time. Just listening to her talk about the different decades she’s experienced has taught me many things. More than anything, though, I’ve learned that in any conflict, nobody gets to play Switzerland. Even Switzerland never really got to play that role. You always have to take sides. And in this case — well, you should be careful. Things never end well for a man caught between two witches.”
Drummond floated down between Lena and Max. “That’s it. You offered your condolences and she’s made her threats. Let the woman prepare for her funeral. If the two of you stay here any longer, I swear I’m gonna start sticking my hands in your heads and give you such brain freeze you won’t be able to think clear for a week.”
Sandra stood. “We thank you for your time. And again, sorry for your loss.”
Lena nodded but her attention had drawn inward. She barely moved out of the way as Max led Sandra toward the hallway to leave. But Max stopped. He turned back and stared at Lena.
“One last thing — you ever hear of a man named Wilburn Walker?”
Lena gazed up as she shook her head. “Should I have?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just wondering.”
As they headed out the door and towards the car, Max made sure to keep his face away from view of the house. He assumed they were being watched, and he did not want any snooping witches to notice his expression. He couldn’t hide his shock. Because no matter how much Lena might deny it, Max saw her flinch at the mention of Walker.
She knew the name.
Chapter 7
DRUMMOND FLOATED IN THE BACKSEAT as Max navigated his way through winding streets in an attempt to avoid the construction areas. The old ghost had his hat down, but Max could still spot the tight jaw. Less than five minutes into the drive, Sandra frowned. That small gesture warned Max that despite the clear skies and sunny weather, he headed into a dark storm. Heck, between his wife and his partner, he didn’t like the weather report anywhere in the car.
“Hon,” Sandra said in a deceptively calm tone. “You’re going the wrong way. The realtor’s office is all the way out on Miller Street.”
Crap. “We’re headed to our office. After everything we just heard at the Mobley house, it’s clear to me that this case —”
“There’s always going to be a case. It’s what we do.”
Max glanced in the rearview mirror. Drummond made a show of staring out the window. No help there.
“This is not just any case. The Magi are finally moving in on the Mobleys. You heard Lena — this is a witch war in the making.”
“But that’s not our case.”
“You saw her face when I mentioned Wilburn Walker. I know you did. She knows that name. And if we’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that all these witches know each other. They’re all interconnected. The minute I saw a witch at that hotel, that was the point where our cheating husband case became something bigger. And now, with these hangings — this is not just an average case. This is serious.”
“Every case is serious. But our lives have to keep moving forward. Life doesn’t stop just because there are dangerous cases. There will always be something, and for us, it will always be big and most likely dangerous. Should we not have applied for guardianship of PB and J because our lives are dangerous? Should we just roll over for the Mobleys and the Magi because things get a bit hairy?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it.”
“Think of it this way — at the end of a long day, after dealing with witches and ghosts and all the dangers, would you rather return to your own space where we can hold each other in privacy and peace, or would you rather go back to your mother’s apartment?”
“I’d rather not have to worry about that question until we stop the entire city from being destroyed by two angry groups of witches.”
From the back seat, Max heard Drummond mutter under his breath. “You have something to say?” Max said.
Still focused outside, Drummond said, “I learned quickly that I should no longer get involved with your marital issues. Especially considering how uptight you both have been lately. When you’re ready to deal with the case, let me know.” With that, Drummond disappeared.
Sandra groaned and pressed back against the headrest. “Why is this so hard for you? I’m not trying to nag — you know I hate being that kind of a wife — but you seem insistent on making our lives miserable.”
Max gestured toward the city. “There’s a lot going on out there. A damn war is ready to blow up everything.”
“Stop being dramatic. A war between witches is like a Mafia war. It’s between them, and that’s it. The city isn’t going to crumble to its knees.”
“You’re only guessing. It’s not like you’ve ever experienced this kind of thing before. Wait, have you?”
“Hon, you’re losing it.”
He felt hot around his neck. “This is just so nuts. I mean hanging those women. I guess I always thought a witch war would be dueling spells or something. But it’s happening and I don’t see what I can do to make it any better for us.”
“For starters, you can stop pushing back on everything I suggest.”
They had stopped at a traffic signal, and as the light changed to green, the car in front did not move immediately. Max honked his horn twice. The shrill cry of his car rang in his ears. Accelerating faster than necessary, Max’s brain raced to find a solution.
When the idea formed, he thought it so obvious that he wanted to slap his forehead. “How about this? I’ll stay at the office and do the research necessary for our case. You go to the realtor and check out the homes you’re interested in. Narrow it down to three or four and set up appointments to check those out with me in the coming days. By then, we’ll have a better handle on our witch that’s a mistress and how it connects to the Mobleys. I realize that’s not ideal, but at least this way, I can satisfy everybody’s needs.”
Sandra’s mouth tightened into a small dot. “Fine.”
When he parked near the office, Sandra got out, mumbled a goodbye, and headed for her car. Max did not pursue her — years of marriage had taught him when she needed space. Or perhaps that was an excuse, and he simply wanted to wait another day.
He felt the chill of Drummond’s presence moments before he heard his partner. “How did you ever trick her into marrying you?”
Walking toward the office, Max said, “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I really want to know. I’m no marriage expert, but it seems pretty obvious to me that she was giving you every opportunity to go look at houses with her. It’s clear that it means a lot to her. Yet you screwed up the whole thing.”
Max stopped on the sidewalk and stared at Drummond. “You were eavesdropping on us?”
A mother walking hand-in-hand with her toddler swiftly lifted the child and decided the other side of the street was where they had meant to be. Max took no offense. He understood that they only saw a man talking to himself in the middle of the sidewalk. He had to be careful about having conversations with Drummond outside. It would never help anybody if he got locked up in a mental hospital.
Walking faster, Max said, “Why doesn’t anyone understand that there is a serious witch problem boiling over?”
“Because your wife and I understand the witch world better than you do. Yes, what happened to the Mobleys is bad, but this witch war has been brewing for nearly a century. It’ll keep growing for a lot longer. Little explosions like this one happen from time to time. It’s nothing to get bent out of shape over. At least, not in the way you’re going about it.”
“Then you’re both wrong. Something different is definitely happening here. It’s not chance that we got hired on a case that led to a witch and the name Wilburn Walker. Not when that same name pulled an unmistakable reaction from Lena Mobley.”
“Okay, I agree with you that part of it is strange. And it deserves our attention, too.”
A chill struck Max. Gazing through Drummond’s pale figure, Max thought he saw a cloaked woman watching him. But when he side-stepped to see clearer, she was gone.
Drummond had not stopped talking. “Plus, you need to look up the symbol I saw carved in those witches’ skin. The same one from the casting circle. And I didn’t tell you the worst of it.”
After a pause, Max said, “Are you going to?”
“I don’t know. See, Sandra’s right. All your hard work doesn’t mean anything if you don’t use it to live your life better and fuller. Trust me on this one. I lived a good life, and in my death, I watched generations grow up and grow old. I’ve seen too many people waste their lives away working hard for things that don’t matter. You need to listen to her.”
“You think what we do doesn’t matter?”
“Of course, it does. But people have been battling ghosts and spells for centuries. Long before you were born, and they’ll go on long after you die. You’re not going to stop it forever. So, do your part, but don’t let it ruin your life. Especially when you’ve got a great gal like Sandra.”
As he entered the office, the bitter aroma of old coffee from that morning filled the air. Max looked over at his computer. “I can’t change what I said. I’ll figure out some way to fix that. But for now, I’ve got research to do. Because if you think Sandra’s mad at me now, imagine how she’ll feel if I don’t turn up anything valuable after blowing her off for the day.”
Drummond hovered in the middle of the room. He glanced at the computer and then at Max. “That’s a sound point. For the sake of us all, I’m begging you, go find everything.”
Chapter 8
DESPITE THE HORRID OPENING TO HIS DAY, Max found the second half to be pure delight. He expected as much, though, because whenever he spent time researching, he felt good. As Sandra often told him, research was his superpower. Something nobody ever talked about, however, was that using a superpower delivered a rush, filled a person with endorphins, and left the body feeling sturdy and strong. He thought it silly that mere research could do that for him, but it did. And this time was no exception.
Bouncing around the office, going over all that he had learned about Wilburn Walker, Max’s fingers tingled. He expected Sandra in the next few minutes, and he wanted to make sure everything went right. Not only did he have a lot to tell her, but at one point during the day, he took a break to buy a bottle of wine because he planned to re-connect with his wife. They needed time together. Simple as that. Time to talk, to drink, to remember that life meant more than running one errand after another, chasing one job after another, putting out one fire after another.
“About time you got your head on right,” Drummond said after hearing Max’s intentions. “It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Take me and Irene, for example. We’ve been meeting regularly ever since that fire department haunting. Once a week, we get together and talk about life as a ghost and life as a psychic. It’s good to have somebody that understands you. That’s what makes a good marriage, after all. And that’s why you and Sandra have always been good together. When you don’t have your head up your ass, that is.”
Max was too jazzed up about his afternoon that he didn’t even bother with a witty reply. His heart pattered away like a virgin teenager waiting to pick up a date — his first date. He heard a car door slam outside, and he checked the clock. Might be her.
“Good luck, partner,” Drummond said before drifting into the built-in bookcase — his main home.
A few moments later, the office door opened and in walked his beautiful wife — along with the two boys, PB and J. His heart sank. He cringed. He loved those boys, but of all nights for his mother to not watch over them. At least, when he gazed upon Sandra, she smiled back.
“You have a good afternoon?” he asked.
“I saw some great houses. Real affordable, too. I’ve got pictures to show you, and I’ve got two of the places set for us to visit, and the third is having an open house this weekend, so we can go then. I thought we could show the boys what we’re looking at, and maybe they’d want to come with us.”
“I want to come,” J said.
Shoving J, PB said, “I better go, too. Otherwise, nerd here will claim the best bedroom.”
Sandra pointed at PB with a stern glare. “I warned you once already. Stop picking on your brother. We all had a rough morning today, and we’re going to be together tonight, away from that apartment. A change of scene will do us all some good. We can even sleep in the office, so tomorrow will be different, too.”
Drummond popped his head out of the bookcase. “What? No. This is my home. I don’t want a bunch of noisy kids being kids all night long.”
Max chuckled. Perhaps it was seeing Drummond upset over something so minor. Perhaps it was his excitement over sharing his research. Or perhaps, his heart lightened as he watched the boys — their boys — getting situated on the couch like children readying for a bedtime story.
The Sandwich Boys loved Max’s research stories. PB reveled in the gruesome parts while J liked trying to solve the puzzles. Lifting his gaze from the boys to Sandra, Max felt a new kind of warmth for her. When she smiled back at him, that warmth flooded over every inch of his body. He watched her face, wanting to memorize each line in her mouth, each sparkle in her eyes, each strand of her hair. He never wanted to forget this.
“Can we have popcorn?” PB asked.
Drummond swiped his hand through the air. “I draw the line there. It’s bad enough having these kids ruin my evening but having them eat in front of me is too much.”
Sandra said, “We don’t have any popcorn.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“But we do have some carrot sticks.” She pulled out a small sandwich bag filled with sliced carrots. Neither boy raced to get the snack. Instead, they scrunched their faces as if somebody had passed gas. When that failed to change circumstances, they looked to Max for help.
Drummond laughed. “I retract my complaints. Let them eat carrots.”
Before the lack of munchies became a bigger issue, Max raised his hands. “Okay, okay. Everybody pay attention. It’s storytime.”
“I’m only sticking around because it’s for the case,” Drummond said, slipping higher into the air until he reached the ceiling.
Max looked to Sandra but she only shrugged. Not wanting to lose the attention of his captive audience, Max said, “There are a few things odd about this case. The biggest one being that I still don’t know how the story I’m going to tell you connects to the woman we found at the hotel. But another odd thing is how easy it was to find the story. I searched the name Wilburn Walker and within no time I had the basics. That’s not normal for the kinds of cases we handle.”
Drummond said, “That tells us that we need to be reading between the lines. Whatever the connection, it won’t be obvious from the surface level. We need to pick up the small details and focus on the nuances.”
Max wanted to tell his partner to have some patience because there were some very blatant and obvious holes in the story that he would get to, but not only were the Sandwich Boys sitting right there, he also did not want to say anything that might dissuade Drummond from continuing his rapt attention.
“So what happened already?” PB said. “A poisoning? Or maybe somebody got tied to their bed and lit on fire.”
Max grimaced. “I need to have a talk with my mom about what she’s been teaching you.” He paused long enough to regain quiet in the room. Then, as if telling a ghost story over a campfire, Max delved into his tale. “June 20, 1891. It’s a Saturday night, and a man named Henry Goins is getting into bed with his children. It’s almost midnight. They lived here in Winston and because Henry’s wife, Mary, worked long days, they did not have dinner until very late. By the time she finished with her house chores, everybody was already trying to get to sleep. Since it was Saturday night, there was a big commotion going on outside, lots of noise, so it was difficult to actually sleep. And then there came a knock at the door.”
Bouncing, PB said, “Uh-oh. That’s going to be trouble.”
“It was. I imagine as Mary Goins grumpily got out of bed, part of her was scared. Bad enough they had somebody knocking on their door near midnight, but the Goins were a black family living in the 1890s here in North Carolina. Nothing good could come from such a late night visit, and I have no doubt she came up with some very terrible ideas of what might happen. But the knocking continued.
“She asked who was at the door, and a man’s voice replied that it was Wilburn Walker. The man was freaking out. He begged for her to let him in, said there were men trying to kill him.
“Now, a lot of this story comes from testimony in court records as well as old editions of a newspaper called People’s Press. So, remember, what we’re hearing is a mixture of eyewitness testimony and journalistic suppositions. Because of that, it’s not really clear if Mary or Henry knew Wilburn Walker, but she did go to the door, and for whatever reason, she opened that door.”
Sandra sat on the couch between the boys. She put an arm around each one. “I know you two would never be so foolish.”
J said, “Course not. But in Mary’s case, it was a long time ago. Maybe they didn’t teach their kids back then not to talk to strangers.”
“We were a lot more trusting back in the day,” Drummond said.
“Maybe,” Sandra said. She gave J a squeeze and kissed the top of his head.
Max marveled that the boy did not try to squirm away. In fact, he appeared to like the affection. He had seen this from the boys before — particularly with his mother — but not often with Sandra.
Max continued, “Well, she did open the door. Three men were on the porch and they were swearing at each other, yelling and making a huge commotion. Mary snapped at them, told them to leave, she didn’t want anything to do with whatever their argument was about, but she never got to complete her sentence. The instant the door opened far enough, Walker shoved his way inside and was followed by another man — this guy went by the entirely original name of John Smith.”
