Marshall’s brows shot up. “A serial killer?”
“Or someone with a personal grudge against all three. Another competitor, for example. We also have a suspect who claimed our victim killed his family with a curse.”
“God Almighty.” Marshall’s expression turned uneasy. “Can’t say I envy you this case. Anything I can do to help, let me know. But if you confirm this involves occult activity, I’ll be happy to transfer the file to you. I have plenty of other—normal—cases to worry about.”
“I appreciate that.” Josh gave him a wry smile and stood. “But we’re not there yet. I’ll call with any developments.”
“Try talking to the sister, Mona Fulton.” Marshall got up and walked him to the door. “She’s holding back something, and we couldn’t get her to open up. I bet it’s this occult stuff she didn’t want us to know. Keep me in the loop, and good luck.”
Josh exited into the August heat. The sister’s interview might be one for Maggie to take the lead, unless she was avoiding his company. Not such a farfetched possibility these days.
Having gotten the go-ahead from Marshall, Josh talked by phone with the witnesses on the Shayre case—except for Mona, who he slated for an in-person interview—and verified the contents of the police file. Shayre had been a well-off woman, social, active in community women’s groups, with no known history of drug abuse. Nobody mentioned any occult activity.
Although Marshall had brought up the possibility of suicide or an accidental overdose, both were unlikely. The family doctor denied writing a prescription for the fatal drug, and the CS techs hadn’t found pills or an empty prescription bottle at the scene. The most suspicious finding was in the autopsy report—a needle prick on the side of her neck indicating the drug was injected—and at a very awkward spot to be self-inflicted. No syringes were found in the home.
When Josh returned to the station around three, there was a note from Maggie that she was following a lead on the Gundermann case and would check in with him before the end of the day. A second note, right beneath Maggie’s, was from Ellie, asking if he was free for drinks at six. Maggie would have seen it.
Josh tapped the notes on his desk. What was Ellie up to now? She’d ostensibly arrived to ask for his help with her sister who’d been caught with a bag of marijuana. He’d listened to her story, offered some advice, but it was a bogus excuse. Her family had a bevy of lawyers who could keep her sister from suffering the consequences of her stupidity.
When he’d confronted her about it, Ellie had awkwardly confessed she’d wanted to see him again. “I made a mistake, Josh. I should have known you wouldn’t be involved with drugs. Can you forgive me?” Those big, brown eyes had been warm, pleading, and he’d said what she wanted to hear. Of course, he forgave her.
What he hadn’t said was it didn’t matter. At least he hadn’t said it that bluntly. He’d told her he’d moved on, made a new life in New Orleans. She’d said she understood, but she still acted as if she wanted him back. If that was her goal—and he had a hunch it wasn’t—but if it was, she’d already burned that bridge. She’d cut off contact following his arrest, ended their engagement without even asking him for his side of the story. The romantic feelings he’d thought he had for her had died an abrupt death. Now, nearly two years later, after he’d been officially exonerated of the criminal charges, she suddenly wanted him back? It didn’t work that way. Not for him. And he had moved on…even if Maggie was busy throwing obstacles in his path.
But he and Ellie had been friends long before they were lovers, and he knew her better than she thought. She might think she wanted him back, but that wasn’t the real reason she was here. Something had her on edge—no, more than that, she was scared. And she wanted to tell him why, but something held her back. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t bring himself to send her packing. Not when she needed a friend.
Josh ran a hand through his hair. But it was hellishly inconvenient. He couldn’t work things out with Maggie while Ellie was hanging on his sleeve.
His somber thoughts were interrupted by Maggie’s breezy entrance. She hurried toward him. “Gundermann’s ex-husband knew about her interest in witchcraft, and he gave me the name of a friend who went to meetings with her.” She dug a folded paper from her black jeans pocket before dropping into her chair. Scooting forward, she leaned over her desk to speak confidentially. “Gundermann’s little hobby—as he called it—was part of what led to the divorce. She’d been involved with witchcraft practices for the last six years, getting more drawn in all the time. It started with an interest in séances after their youngest son was killed in Afghanistan. Her ex didn’t know much about her activities since the divorce two years ago, except the October ball was a big deal.” She unfolded the paper and handed him a photo that had been kept inside. “This is her gown from three years ago.”
Josh studied the wallet-sized professional photograph. A tall, slender woman with long black hair down to her waist posed for the camera in a fancy, sweeping ball dress of black silk and lace. In one hand she held a slender stick attached to an elaborate black-feathered mask of cat-like eyes. It obscured most of her features.
“The long hair is partly extensions,” Maggie said. “But you get the idea of the costumes involved. They’re custom-made and pricey.”
“It’s eye-catching.” He handed it back. “Not my taste.”
“But assuming for a moment that we have a serial killer, did it fit his taste? Who is his target victim? Best dressed? Sexiest? Or will any witch do? Maybe we should present those questions to a profiler.”
Josh was taken aback. “Isn’t it premature? How does a profile based on an unproven linkage help at this stage? I’d rather concentrate on Preston and not get sidetracked by these other murders.”
“Am I supposed to ignore the other two spirits?” Maggie asked in a harsh whisper. “Or are you saying they’re my problem?”
“Neither. Don’t go there, Maggie.” He leaned over his desk and kept his own voice low. “As you said once before, we don’t really know what they want. Until we have hard proof their deaths overlap, I’m suggesting we keep the Preston case separate…and our priority. But obviously we have to follow up on all three.”
“Fair enough. But I know they’re connected.” Her voice was cool but no longer snippy.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong. In fact, I have a new witness on the Shayre case that might help us prove it. And I’d like you to take the lead in the interview.” He explained what the District 8 detective had told him about Mona Shayre Fulton. “If she’s avoiding Shayre’s occult activities, she might open up to someone who doesn’t belittle the concept.”
Maggie shrugged. “Sure. I’ll do it. I can talk the language, but don’t expect me to say a word about the ghosts just to build rapport. That’s strictly between you and me.”
“No question about it,” Josh said, disappointed she’d felt the need to remind him. “Are you up for working this weekend, at least Saturday? I’d liked to get it done.”
“Me too. In fact, all three. My witness, your witness, and Fiona Gordon, who’s been holding out on her own occult interests. I want to know why.”
They made the calls, then moved the discussion to other potential angles, including the kind of training it took to handle poisonous snakes.
“I’ll ask Harry tonight,” Josh said. “He’s not studying reptiles, but maybe he or the vet he works for can point us to someone. It has to be a unique specialty. I personally wouldn’t go near one.”
“Me either. Much less pick it up.” Maggie made a sour face. “Our killer must be gutsy…or he’s just plain crazy.”
* * *
Josh followed up with Harry as soon as they met for pre-dinner drinks at the restaurant bar that night. “Could you safely handle a snake?” he asked after explaining the situation.
“Hell, no. It’s too dangerous. And I won’t be including poisonous snakes in my practice either.” Harry shook his head, dislodging a shoc
k of black hair. Although he was four years younger, he was nearly Josh’s double. Tall, athletic. His dark hair was cut slighter longer, his face more boyish, less confident. The indictment of two crime bosses early in the year had freed him from the house arrest of the Witness Protection Program, and Harry had grown as tanned as Josh under the New Orleans’ sun. He leaned on the bar, blowing lightly on the foam of his second beer.
“Would an amateur even chance it?” Josh persisted.
“How would I know? People do all kinds of crazy things. Like these pastors who use snakes in their church services. But I can ask my boss if he knows a local handler who can answer your questions more precisely. Is this urgent? Do you want me to call him now?”
“That’d be great. I’d like to talk with someone tomorrow.”
While Harry was on the phone, Josh checked his watch and the restaurant’s entrance. He’d put Ellie off until seven, electing to have drinks with Harry first, and he’d invited Harry to join them for dinner. He didn’t want to mislead Ellie into believing he was interested in rekindling their romance. On the other hand, he planned to walk her home alone and discover why she was really in New Orleans.
“He knew a guy,” Harry said, hanging up and pushing a round beermat toward Josh with a name and number written on it. “Not only does this guy know snakes, but he’s familiar with the local market.”
“Terrific. Thanks, bro. Ah, there’s Ellie.” Josh pocketed the paper coaster and stood. His ex-fiancée wore a white sundress, short skirt and strappy top, showing off her tanned arms and long legs. Her shiny, blonde hair swung freely around her shoulders as she walked, drawing the attention of other diners. No question she was a looker.
“You sure you don’t want me to get lost?” Harry asked.
“Don’t you dare,” Josh murmured. He strode forward to greet Ellie.
After a leisurely meal and an evening reminiscing about their years in Boston, Harry said good-bye, and Josh escorted Ellie to her hotel. They walked quickly, and neither had much to say. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but she seemed engrossed in her own thoughts, and he had more than enough on his mind.
Josh stopped near the hotel entrance. “Why did you come to New Orleans, Ellie?”
“I told you,” she said feigning surprise. “I wanted to see you. And to ask your advice regarding Sis’s predicament.”
“Let me rephrase. Why are you still here?” He studied her face. “Something’s wrong. I’ve never been good at mind-reading when it comes to women, so if you need my help on something else, you have to tell me.”
“I…I can’t. I mean, there’s nothing. I needed to get away to do some thinking, and I knew you wouldn’t nag me.”
“I could be more supportive if I knew what we were talking about. Does your family know where you are?”
“Not precisely, and please don’t tell them, or they’ll start worrying too.” Her brows lowered in obvious dismay. “They think I’m visiting a spa ranch.”
“But Ellie, what if they try to reach you?” What would make her act like this? She’d never been a rebel, even as a teenager. Rather the good daughter who’d toed the family line. He noted the tension lines around her mouth. “You act like you’re hiding something. Are you ill? In legal trouble?”
She turned away and continued toward the hotel. “I needed to get away.”
“From what?” he asked, catching up with her in two strides.
She turned with a kittenish smile and laid one hand on his chest. “Oh, you know my family. They can be smothering. I wanted to enjoy some time with an old friend. Is that so hard to understand?”
“And we’ve done that.” He gently removed her hand. “I have a job, a life here in New Orleans. You belong in Boston.”
“I thought we were friends. You make it sound so decisive, so final.”
Josh’s voice was firm. “We are friends. But it’s time to go home, Ellie. Whatever you’re looking for, it isn’t here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Maggie stretched, picked up the wineglass sitting next to her home computer, and took a thoughtful sip. She’d spent the evening researching and reading everything she could find on occult individuals or organizations who used the symbol of an inverted pentagram, especially local satanic groups and the temple in New Orleans. Surprisingly, there didn’t seem to be set rules or precepts common to Satanism, and followers ranged the spectrum from those disenchanted with other forms of traditional religion to true worshipers of a dark, fallen angel.
She covered a yawn. She was tired of thinking about witchcraft and of staring at a computer screen, but she couldn’t shut down until she’d finished her background research for tomorrow’s interviews. She set down her glass and typed new criteria into her search tab. Links appeared across the page.
The phone’s musical ring interrupted her. Annie’s face popped onto the screen, and she stifled a flash of disappointment that it wasn’t Josh. “Hey, girlfriend,” Maggie greeted. “You’re home early tonight, or is Harry there with you?”
“Don’t I wish,” Annie said. “I’ve been working on an article. Harry had dinner with Josh…and Ellie. He just called me on his way home.” She paused. “Josh was walking Ellie back to her hotel.”
Maggie’s stomach knotted, wondering if he’d stop to visit in Ellie’s room. Would he kiss her goodnight—or more? She tried to keep the envy from her voice. “Isn’t that cozy.”
“Mags, did you hear me? You have to do something about this. You can’t let her walk in and take over.”
“I didn’t let her do anything. This is Josh’s choice.”
“Oh, get real. You gave her an opening when you pushed him away.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Maggie protested.
“It was exactly like that.” Annie’s voice softened. “Fess up, honey. You cut him off so you wouldn’t get hurt. But it didn’t stop the feelings, did it? Not sleeping with him won’t turn off the pain. Tell me you’re not already miserable.”
“I’m not miserable,” Maggie said dispiritedly.
“Yeah, I can tell. So do something before it’s too late.”
“Like what? He’s with Ellie now, and our situation…the risks haven’t changed.”
“No, and never will.” Annie made an impatient, throaty sound. “OK. Last argument, and then I’m done. Would you rather be happy, and make him happy, for a year, even a day—or not at all? I know what I’d choose. You and Josh belong together for whatever time you have. Just like me and Harry.”
“You’re a diehard romantic, Annie.”
“And you’re not?”
* * *
Annie’s words still rang in her ears when Maggie arrived at District 13 the following morning. She’d tossed and turned half the night before admitting she needed to talk things over with Josh, openly, honestly—like she should have from the beginning. She missed him. Not only the warmth of his bed but the sense of belonging that took her breath away every time he looked at her. She wanted that back.
Talk about best laid plans… Josh was delayed getting to the office—she tried not to wonder why—and they hardly had time to say hello because their first interview was waiting. Maggie lifted her chin, torn between relief and frustration. OK, she’d bring it up over lunch.
Mona Shayre Fulton, the sister of the overdose victim, sat up straight when Josh and Maggie entered the interview room. She came across as unduly nervous, even apprehensive. But as Maggie discussed the occult issues so matter-of-factly, the woman relaxed her guard and admitted Bernice had been deeply attracted to witchcraft.
“I didn’t mention it before because…well, I didn’t want her belittled or thought of as a weirdo. But she was caught up in it. Not so much in the craft itself, but she loved the intrigue, the idea of participating in something mysterious, forbidden.” She stopped and asked, “What does this have to do with her murder?”
“Are you sure it was murder?” Maggie asked.
Fulton’s response was firm. “My sister
didn’t do drugs. And she would never kill herself. It had to be murder. There’s no other explanation.”
“It’s suspicious,” Maggie agreed. “But who would have a reason to harm her?”
A defensive frown appeared. “I can’t imagine, except I know that’s what happened.”
“Tell us about your sister. Her daily routine, her lifestyle, including the witchcraft activities. Anything might be the piece we need to solve her case.”
And she shared. Most of it was irrelevant as evidence, but it gave them a good understanding of Shayre’s personality. Maggie was more convinced than ever that the death had not been a suicide or accident.
“I don’t know much about the paranormal stuff,” Mona said as she was winding down. “It wasn’t an interest we shared. But she loved the ball. She even had a gown professionally designed for this year’s competition.” Her voice faltered, producing a slight tremble of her lower lip. “I should cancel the final fitting. I’d forgotten about it.”
“She was entering the top witch contest again?” Josh asked. When Mona nodded, he followed up. “What’s in it for the winner, mostly prestige?”
“I suppose. It’s a highly coveted title…like being chosen king or queen of the prom. It may have other perks—gifts or cash awards—but I guess I wasn’t listening when she talked about them. She’d been a finalist four years in a row and last year’s runner-up.” A shadow crossed Mona’s face. “She was excited this might be her year.”
Maggie was seeing a theme. Could the murders have a motive as simple as eliminating the competition? Seemed ridiculous but not unprecedented in the world of vanity pageants.
At ten o’clock, Lizzie’s sister Fiona Gordon arrived right on time for her interview, but she made it clear from the start she had better things to do. Her lips pressed in a thin line. “I don’t know why Liz told you to call me. Our membership is pledged to secrecy. I can’t name names or tell you about private meetings that are none of the public’s business.”