Wicked Witch Murder Page 6

  “Things will work out,” said Lucy mechanically. That was what you said when somebody had a problem, but she wasn’t convinced it would be easy. What she didn’t expect was the crowd of reporters gathered on Diana’s front porch.

  “Keep driving,” ordered Diana, ducking down to hide her face.

  “Okay,” said Lucy, sailing right on by the little shop. “Where to?”

  “I don’t know,” moaned Diana. “I’m exhausted, I itch all over, I’ve got an indictment hanging over my head, Ike Stoughton wants me to go to hell, and now I’ve got the media on my tail. Can I stay at your house?”

  II

  WATER

  She is the Moon Goddess’s most darling daughter

  Chosen from the elements five,

  Not a one can compete with water

  The sparkling source of everything alive.

  Chapter Six

  “Are you crazy?” The words popped out of Lucy’s mouth before she had a chance to think.

  “Just for a night or two,” added Diana. “Until this blows over.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” insisted Lucy. She wasn’t comfortable with the idea of Diana being in such close contact with her girls, and she was sure Bill wouldn’t like it either.

  “Oh, you’ve got to help me,” begged Diana. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “What about the other members of the coven?” asked Lucy.

  “Nobody lives close by….”

  “That might be a good thing.”

  “No, I need to keep an eye on my shop—and besides, I’m in no shape to travel.”

  It was true, admitted Lucy. Diana was a mess, with poison ivy blisters all over her body, and it was only going to get worse before it got better. She needed someplace quiet to rest and recuperate.

  “Okay,” said Lucy reluctantly, “but only if you promise not to involve my girls in any witchcraft.”

  “Absolutely not,” agreed Diana. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

  Bill and the girls were in the kitchen when they arrived; Bill was making himself a sandwich for lunch, and the girls were working on late Saturday morning breakfasts. They looked up in surprise at the unexpected visitor.

  “Bill, this is Diana Ravnscroft,” said Lucy, pulling out a chair for their guest. “She’s temporarily homeless, and I’ve invited her to stay with us for a day or two.” She gave the girls a warning look. “Maybe you two can double up for a night or two in Sara’s room?”

  The girls usually resisted sharing a room when their older sister Elizabeth came home from college, but today they were all smiles. “No problem,” agreed Sara. “Right, Zoe?”

  “I’ll go and put clean sheets on the bed,” volunteered Zoe.

  Bill seated himself at the table and bit into his sandwich. “Did you lose your house because of the fire?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sort of,” said Lucy quickly. “Any word from Toby?”

  “Molly says he called a while ago. He’s okay but they still need everybody they can get to fight the fire.” He took a big swallow of Coke. “I’m going to cover at the fire station, soon as I finish eating.” Bill had been a volunteer firefighter for a number of years, when the kids were small, and he was occasionally called to fill in during emergencies.

  “I need to get over to the shelter at the high school and take some pictures,” said Lucy. “Ted’s out with the firefighters.” She was thinking that she really didn’t want to leave the girls home alone with Diana. “Diana was trapped on the mountain all night and got a terrible case of poison ivy—she really needs to rest.”

  Bill looked at her with new interest. “What was it like up there?” he asked.

  “Hot and smoky and we were lost. It was really scary until the helicopter came.”

  “What were you doing up there?” he asked.

  “Celebrating the summer solstice,” said Diana.

  Bill looked at her skeptically. “Pretty darn foolish of you,” he said, shoving his plate across the table and standing up.

  “I know that now,” said Diana, shamefaced.

  He was by the door, picking up the helmet, boots, and jacket he had piled on the floor.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be home,” he told Lucy. “Don’t count on me for supper.”

  “Okay,” said Lucy. “Be careful.”

  He nodded and went out the door.

  Lucy watched him go and hoped he wouldn’t be called into danger; she thought of Toby, who’d been out all night with the other volunteers. “I hate this fire,” she said, to nobody in particular.

  “It wasn’t my fault, honest,” said Diana. “We didn’t start it.”

  Lucy looked at her with a serious expression. “Don’t make any trouble here. I’m warning you.”

  “Oh, I won’t. I promise,” said Diana, looking hurt.

  Lucy didn’t believe her for a minute, but she had no choice; she had a job to do. The fire was a big story, and she had to help cover it.

  Later that afternoon, tired and hungry, she checked in at the office. Nobody was there. Phyllis didn’t work Saturdays, and there was no message from Ted. Lucy sat down at her desk and began transcribing her notes into the computer, adding her impressions while they were still fresh. Images flitted through her mind: the anxious faces of the evacuees as they arrived at the shelter; the intense, focused expressions at the crisis center; Lady Sybil’s outrageous appearance as a most unlikely hiker. When she finished, she saved the file, then headed home. She was done for the day and had the luxury of going home, but the firefighters had no choice but to keep battling the flames. Her thoughts were with them, especially Toby, as she locked up and crossed the parking lot to her car. It was unusually dark for this time of day, late afternoon, and she attributed it to the smoke from the fire. But when she started the car, she noticed drops of water leaving grimy tracks as they dribbled through the soot on her windshield. Rain! It was raining!

  She stuck her hand out the window, just to be sure, and felt the drops coming faster and faster. Soon it was a real downpour. A soaker. Thank heaven.

  Flipping on her wipers and turning on the headlights, she headed home, praying that the rain would continue until the fire was completely doused. But when Monday dawned and it was still raining, Lucy was beginning to be sorry she got what she’d wished for. True, Toby and the other volunteer firefighters were able to return home. Only a handful of cabins were lost, and the evacuees were able to leave the shelter. Miraculously, no lives were lost and there were only a few minor injuries, but this unending downpour was too much. The streets were beginning to flood as storm drains backed up, creeks were rising, and moods were falling as people settled into sulks and depression. Even worse, Friends of Animals day camp, where both girls had summer jobs, was closed because of the weather, and Lucy had no choice but to leave the girls alone in the house with Diana. So far, the witch had been true to her promise not to practice witchcraft and had pretty much stayed in Zoe’s bedroom, passing the time by watching Zoe’s little twelve-inch TV. As much as Lucy would have liked to send Diana packing, her conscience wouldn’t allow it until the rash subsided and she could take care of herself.

  “First the fire and now this,” grumbled Phyllis when Lucy arrived at the office on Monday morning. Lucy hung her dripping rain jacket on the coat rack and gave her umbrella a gentle shake, then propped it against the wall. She thumped across the room to her desk in her black and white polka-dot Wellies.

  “I guess we’re never satisfied,” said Lucy, pulling off her boots and slipping into the pair of worn loafers she kept under her desk. “Just last week, everybody was complaining that it was too dry.”

  “Well now it’s too wet,” said Phyllis. “My lawn is getting all soggy. I could use a pair of boots like those. They’re cute.”

  “My poor tomato plants are treading water,” said Lucy, attempting a joke. “Where’s Ted? Resting up after the fire?”

  “No rest for the wicked,” said P
hyllis. “Press conference at the police station.”

  “About the fire?” asked Lucy, switching on her PC.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” said Phyllis.

  But when Ted came in an hour later, dressed like the Gorton’s fisherman in bright yellow rain gear, it turned out the press conference hadn’t been about the fire after all.

  “The state police identified the burned guy,” he said, carefully placing a handful of rain-splotched papers on Phyllis’s counter.

  “Who was he?” asked Phyllis, dabbing at the mess with a paper towel.

  “Name of Malcolm Malebranche. He was a magician, worked at kids’ birthday parties, stuff like that.”

  “Malebranche, that’s an unusual name,” said Lucy. She knew she’d heard it before but couldn’t quite remember when.

  Ted wasn’t looking good; Lucy figured he was still tired from covering the fire. Being out there in all that smoke couldn’t be good for a person. It was no wonder he had a nasty little cough and looked a little green about the gills.

  “It’s really horrible,” he was saying, swallowing hard.

  Lucy and Phyllis were all ears. “Yeah?” prompted Phyllis.

  Ted sat down on one of the chairs in the reception area, by Phyllis’s counter. “The medical examiner says he was burned alive.”

  Phyllis’s thin, pencil-line eyebrows shot up. “What did you say?”

  “He was burned alive,” repeated Ted.

  Lucy had heard him the first time, and she was struggling to understand how something like that could happen.

  “The ME thinks it might have been some sort of magic trick gone wrong, a Houdini-style escape that didn’t work, something like that.”

  “He must’ve been really dumb to try something like that,” said Phyllis.

  “Nobody’s that dumb,” said Lucy, suddenly remembering where she’d heard the name. It was in the car, with Diana. She’d remembered something Lord Malebranche had told her. Diana knew him, and from the way she referred to him, Lucy suspected he was also a witch—and she wondered if his death was really a tragic accident or something more sinister.

  “I’ll be back,” said Lucy, pulling on her boots. “I’ve got a lead I need to follow up on.”

  When she got to the house, she found the girls in the kitchen, making chocolate chip cookies for Diana. The kitchen smelled wonderful, rich and chocolatey, and Libby, the Labrador, was keeping an eye on the proceedings, ready to lick up any spills.

  “Don’t give her too many cookies or she’ll get sick,” warned Lucy, slipping off her rain gear and grabbing a cookie from the wire tray as she headed for the stairs. The cookie was at that perfect stage when the chocolate chips were still warm and gooey and the dough was crispy, but she didn’t really enjoy it, because her mind was already on the conversation she was going to have with Diana. Swallowing the last bit, she knocked on the door.

  “Diana, it’s me, Lucy,” she said.

  “Come in.” Diana’s voice was thin and reedy.

  When she opened the door, she found Diana in a cotton T-shirt and underpants, lying on the bed with the covers thrown back. The poison ivy rash was peaking, and the large pink blotches that spotted her body were blistered and oozing. She looked so miserable that Lucy found her defenses crumbling.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked.

  “The girls are taking good care of me,” said Diana. An inflamed patch near her mouth made speaking difficult; another had nearly closed her left eye. “They keep bringing me cold drinks and things to eat.”

  “It will pass,” said Lucy.

  “I know, but it sure seems to be taking its own sweet time,” complained Diana. “I know I promised not to practice witchcraft, but I really think a repelling spell might help, if you wouldn’t mind.” Seeing Lucy’s lips tighten, she quickly added, “The girls wouldn’t even have to know. I could be very quiet.”

  “Why don’t you give the doctor a call and get some of that cortisone?”

  “Filthy poison,” snapped Diana. “I wouldn’t pollute my body with that stuff.”

  “Maybe there’s something else he could prescribe?”

  “A prescription isn’t going to do any good,” said Diana. “What’s going on here is much stronger than any little pill.”

  “It’s worth a try,” insisted Lucy. “I’m always amazed at the new stuff….”

  Diana sniffed. “I don’t think pharmaceutical companies have come up with anything to counteract a maleficent spell.”

  Lucy blinked. “You think your poison ivy is the result of an evil spell? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Diana nodded.

  “But you told me there’s nothing wicked about witchcraft.”

  Diana shrugged. “It’s like any other religion—there are always some who stray. Witches are people, too, and there are jealousies and rivalries, and when you have attained a certain level of expertise, it’s tempting to use your powers in a negative way.”

  “Do you suspect anyone in particular?” asked Lucy.

  “I think it was Lady Sybil,” whispered Diana. “She was very upset when Lord Malebranche asked me to fill in during his absence.”

  “You mentioned Lord Malebranche before….”

  “He’s the high priest of our coven. He’s been called away.”

  “Who called him? Where did he go?”

  “He always spends Midsummer in England, with a coven in the New Forest.”

  Not this year, thought Lucy, taking a deep breath. “They’ve identified the body in the woods—it’s Malcolm Malebranche….”

  A deep shudder racked Diana’s body, and Lucy quickly wrapped her in the comforter that had been tossed to the bottom of the bed. “No, no,” moaned Diana, rocking back and forth. “Not Lord Malebranche.”

  “They think it was an accident, a magic trick gone wrong,” added Lucy.

  “Evil…evil is afoot,” whispered Diana. “I have to take steps to protect myself and the others.”

  “You’re safe here,” said Lucy, trying to calm her. “It was an accident.”

  Diana shook her head; she was still shivering. “No accident.” She seized a pen and notepad that were lying on the bedside table and began scribbling frantically. When she finished, she shoved the paper at Lucy. “You must get me these things. They’re all at my shop.”

  Lucy took the paper and studied the list: black candles, salt, chalice, wine, athame, frankincense, onyx stone. “You promised,” protested Lucy. “No witchcraft.”

  Diana had pulled her long hair down over her face, but her eyes glittered brightly through the tangled locks. “It’s a matter of life and death,” she said, her voice little more than a hiss. “You have to get these things for me.”

  This wasn’t what Lucy had intended at all. She’d come back to question Diana about Malebranche, but all she’d found out so far was that he was the high priest of a Wiccan coven. “What can you tell me about Malcolm Malebranche?” demanded Lucy. “He was a magician, right?”

  Diana wasn’t yielding; her jaw was set, her hands curled into fists. “Get me the tools I need for the spell and I’ll tell you,” she said.

  Lucy knew when she was beat. The woman was hysterical, crazy, totally insane, but she wasn’t going to get another word out of her until she produced those black candles and all the rest. “All right,” said Lucy.

  “And don’t delay,” warned Diana. “Time is of the essence when evil is afoot.”

  “Righto,” said Lucy, heading for the door.

  Down in the kitchen, Lucy grabbed another cookie. It had cooled and wasn’t as good as the first. That’s the way it was with chocolate chip cookies, but it was still good, and she took another, chewing it thoughtfully.

  “What’s going on?” asked Sara, dropping the last balls of dough onto a cookie sheet.

  “Diana’s had some bad news. A friend died. She’s pretty upset, so I think you should leave her alone until I get back. I just have to get some things for
her. It won’t take me long.”

  “Okay,” said Sara, sliding the pan into the oven.

  “We could make tea for her,” suggested Zoe.

  “Not just yet,” said Lucy, reaching for her rain jacket. “Maybe when I get back, okay?”

  Lucy was backing the car around when she noticed a little VW beetle turning into her drive. Probably one of Sara’s friends, she thought, but when she pulled alongside the car, she discovered Rebecca Wardwell behind the wheel.

  “Horrible weather,” said Lucy by way of greeting. The two cars were side by side, and both drivers had rolled down their windows. “What brings you here?”

  “I understand somebody at your house has a bad case of poison ivy, maybe one of your children?”

  “No, well, yes,” admitted Lucy, marveling at the efficiency of the Tinker’s Cove grapevine to spread news. “It’s not one of my kids; it’s Diana Ravenscroft. She must have gotten into a patch. It’s very bad.”

  “Poison ivy can be a real trial,” said Rebecca.

  “As a matter of fact, she wants me to go to her shop and get some candles and things so she can cast a spell to get rid of it,” said Lucy.

  “All this drama is so unnecessary.” Rebecca sniffed, pulling a small bottle out of the large quilted bag she always carried. “I have a sweet fern solution here that I think she’ll find quite effective.”

  “Thanks,” said Lucy, reaching out the window and accepting the bottle. “It’s very kind of you.”

  “Not at all,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Now I’ll be on my way.”