Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) (5 page)

"I'll try to behave."

Wendy began feeling extremely flustered and increasingly uncomfortable. This conversation was taking a turn into an unknown area for her. She changed the subject, "What do you do?"

Archer noted the change in her tone, and her question brought a smile to his lips. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

Wendy frowned. She could tell that he was laughing at her, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why. "Surprised at what?"

"That you don't know who I am."

"Should I?" Her curiosity warred with a mounting sense of annoyance. Although he didn't seem to be bragging in his claim that she should recognize him, she definitely sensed
smugness in his manner that grated on her nerves.

"No," he replied, "come to think of it, there isn't really any reason why you should."

Now her curiosity had waned, and she was just plain irritated. "Well," she demanded, "who are you?"

"Richard Blackly," he said, extending his hand and flashing her the cheesiest smile she had ever seen, "Deputy Mayor."

Wendy stared, not quite knowing what to say. "If you'd said that to begin with," she began in a huff. Her slip of the tongue was back to haunt her, and her mortification had just multiplied itself by a factor of ten. "You said your name was Archer. How was I to know?"

"Richard
A.
Blackly. Like I said, I never much cared for Richard. And I don't think I look like a Dick, do you?"

"I'm not so sure," she snapped back. Her hand flew to her mouth. She couldn't believe the words had been out loud. She had only meant to say it in her head.

To her relief, Archer threw back his head and laughed out loud. "Delightful," he said when he had caught his breath. "Let me get you another."

Wendy looked down and found, to her surprise, that her pint glass was completely empty. She couldn't remember finishing the beer, but at least that might account for some of her recent word vomit.

"Thank you," she replied with all the dignity she had left at her disposal, "but I must get back to the party. I do need to represent the library, and that means circulating amongst the guests."

"I understand," he smiled again. "It has been a pleasure, Wendy."

Wendy made her escape without answering either his words or the knowing look in his eyes. Immediately after leaving Archer, who she suspected was still looking in her direction though she refused to lower herself by checking, she ran smack into Carrie.

"Just the person I have been looking for," Wendy said somewhat truthfully. The encounter with Archer had left her off balance. She would have remembered to look for Carrie eventually. "Are you having a nice time?"

"It has been very interesting," the younger woman answered gravely.

Carrie was dressed in a neat, if somewhat old-fashioned, black dress with long sleeves and clunky high-heeled shoes. Her eyes were wide and searching, and Wendy's heart suddenly contracted as she considered how overwhelmed the girl must feel.

"Try to have fun," Wendy gave her a warm, comforting smile. "You can stick close to me, if you want."

Carrie smiled back, "Thanks, Wendy, but I'm doing fine. I saw Magda just a moment ago."

Wendy moved in the direction Carrie had indicated, not sure how she would find her friend in the increasing sea of people milling about in the small museum's foyer.

"You look
hot
!"

"Shhh!" Wendy hissed, as a number of heads swiveled in Magda's direction. From the look of her flushed face and slightly wobbly stance, Magda had already had more than a few of her favorite martinis. "How many have you had?" she demanded.

"Two or three," Magda was noncommittal. "Loosen up, Wendy."

"This is a work function, Magda," she replied sternly. "Pull it together."

"Oh, pish. Live a little. Now let's scope out the prospects, shall we?"

Wendy rolled her eyes. "That is not why I'm here."

"Really?" Suddenly Magda's eyes didn't seem so unfocused. "You seemed mightily interested in that extremely attractive man by the door."

Wendy was saved from having to answer. Magda let out a little gasp and grabbed her roughly by the arm.

"He's here."

"Who?"

"That man from the bar last night. He's coming this way," Magda was starting to sound a little worried. "I really don't need another one of these."

Wendy didn't have to ask what she meant. Magda was a bit sensitive about men following her around after she had to file a restraining order against a man she'd known in college. He had cornered her in the school's library and issued some very ugly threats. Magda had told her about it after they'd shared a bottle of wine one night. Wendy had always suspected that was why she was so blunt to men who tried to pick her up and why, despite her knock out good looks, Wendy had never known her to have a boyfriend.

Wendy risked a glance over her shoulder, and sure enough, it was the same man who had bought them drinks the night before at the bar. He was approaching them slowly, a warm smile belying any threatening intentions.

"I think he just wants to talk to us. It's okay," Wendy patted Magda's clenched hand and felt her relax slightly.

"Miss Lightower," he said, looking at Wendy. "I wanted to come and introduce myself. Douglas Fry."

"Nice to meet you," Wendy shook his hand. The name rang a bell of recognition in the back of her mind, but she couldn't place it, nor did she recognize him beyond having seen him the night before.

"I understand that I have you to thank for making my family's collection look better than it has in a century."

The memory clicked into place. A main portion of the exhibit was on loan from the Fry family. They were originally from North Harbor, but Wendy remembered hearing that the current family members lived elsewhere - Boston, perhaps.

"I very much enjoyed working on the documents. I'm glad you like the exhibit."

Aside from a friendly smile when he first walked up, Douglas had ignored Magda completely. He continued to speak exclusively to Wendy. "It looks wonderful. I'm so pleased that we were able to put these musty old books and fading pieces of paper to a good use. It is much better than having them locked away in the family vault."

"Are you staying in North Harbor?" Wendy felt Magda tense beside her. If she had to guess, her friend was more interested in the answer than she wanted to be.

"For the time being," he replied vaguely. "I haven't been here since I was a child. This place brings back a lot of memories. We used to visit my grandparents in the summers."

After a few more moments of small talk and another round of thanks from Douglas, he took his leave. Only at the very end of the conversation did he appear to notice Magda at all.

"Nice to see you again," he said with a smile, and his tone conveyed that he more than meant it.

"That wasn't so bad," Wendy commented once he had gone.

Magda mumbled something under her breath, and Wendy could tell that she was embarrassed about overreacting.

"Let's go check out all this work I've been doing," Wendy changed the subject and slipped her arm through Magda's outthrust elbow.

The two women wove their way through the crowds of people to the double wide entrance into the museum proper. The moment they left the bulk of the crowd behind them, Wendy could hear Derek's voice resounding and postulating to a small of group of very well-dressed men and women. While everyone that night had made an effort, this group quite clearly represented the cream of North Harbor society.

Once again, Wendy met the stormy gray eyes of Archer, and the man actually had the audacity to wink at her. Blushing, she moved her glance further along the group. Archer stood close to another man who was shorter than him by several inches, which appeared to have been added to the older man's middle. He had hair so dark that it almost certainly had been dyed recently and cemented into place so that not a single strand moved. His cheesy smile marked him for a politician of the local, self-important breed. Even Wendy recognized Nathan Braun, the mayor of North Harbor.

"Here we have a particularly interesting bit of local history. There are events in our past that not even our oldest families remember. I don't include myself, of course, as a local historian, and my family dates back to the town's founding, as does the family of our wonderful mayor." Derek was sounding very pleased with himself, and based on the way he was catching one diamond-crusted, silk-draped woman, he wasn't the only one. Nathan nodded and smiled smugly at Braun. “It is one of the reasons we were able to put this exhibit together. Without Mr. Braun's help, and my own not inconsiderable efforts, I can safely say that we wouldn't be here tonight.”

Wendy lost track of Derek's speech when she noticed Nathan Braun peel away from the group and make a straight line toward the darkened end of the museum. Archer didn't seem to notice that his boss had gone missing. The way that everyone had studiously avoided watching the mayor's retreat and his choice to enter a closed portion of the museum made the little hairs along Wendy's arms stand on end.

Magda had become distracted in looking at the exhibit, and even in listening to Derek, who for all his bluster did seem to know what he was talking about. No one paid any attention to her as Wendy followed the path the mayor had taken into the darkness.

She heard him before she saw him. There was a low grunting noise and a shuffle, as of fabric being rubbed against a hard surface. Then she heard the voice.

"No, Mr. Braun, please."

It was a woman's voice, young by the sound of it, and more than a little frightened.

"It's okay, baby. No one is going to see us." The slick, oily quality to his voice, which had always struck Wendy as being affected, suddenly made her sick to her stomach.

"I'm going to get in trouble," the woman said, her voice rising in volume as her panic increased.

"Then I guess it would be better if you kept quiet."

There was more rustling, from a struggle, but then the dark corner went ominously quiet.

Wendy couldn't wait any longer. She called out in a loud voice, "I'll be right out, Derek. I'm going to get something from the back room." This area didn't lead to any "back room," but the mayor probably didn't know that. At least, she hoped he didn't know that.

A small squeak and a thud were followed by the clacking sound of the mayor's shoes on the hard tiles getting louder as he made his way towards the place where Wendy was standing. She kept her face schooled and neutral until he was nearly upon her, and then she opened her eyes wide in mock surprise.

"Oh, Mr. Mayor, I didn't know anyone was back here."

Nathan Braun looked at her for a long time. He seemed to be studying her face, looking for any betraying sign that she had heard was what happening just behind him in the dark. He must have been satisfied with what he saw because his face morphed into its standard cheesy grin.

"I wanted a little private look at the rest of this delightful local gem! You do wonderful work here, Miss..." he trailed off.

"Lightower," Wendy supplied, though it turned her stomach to stand there chatting with this man as though she had heard nothing, "Head Librarian."

"Excellent," he said again, his voice sounding mechanic and rehearsed, his eyes looking at a point somewhere over her shoulder. "Excuse me, Miss Lightower, I must be getting back. Don't want to miss any stories of our local color!" He chuckled heartily, and no doubt falsely. He kept standing in front of her, however, apparently waiting for her to turn around and walk back.

"Yes, do go back. Derek is very knowledgeable," she replied, not moving an inch.

His eyes turned hard as flint, "Let me escort you back, Miss Lightower. You never know what could be waiting for you in the dark." His jocular tone didn't fool her for a second.

"Thank you, Mr. Braun, but the dark doesn't scare me. Never has. I need to retrieve something from storage, and I will be back in just a moment."

Nathan Braun's eyes shot daggers at her, but his smile never faltered. He really had no choice but to leave her there, but she could see the pain it caused him to capitulate playing itself out across his face.

Once he was safely out of sight, and more importantly hearing, Wendy cautiously approached the dark place by the wall where she had heard the mayor and his prey.

There was no one there.

Three

Even after the distasteful incident with the mayor in the back of the museum, Wendy stayed at the party late, and even managed to have something resembling a good time. Magda recovered from her shock of seeing the man from the bar and was her usual sarcastic self. When the dancing started later in the evening, she was the first one on the floor, dragging Wendy reluctantly behind her.

By the time she made it home and into her bed, the night was well on its way to becoming morning. The morning was one of those perfect Saturdays where the light is bright enough to awaken without being harsh, and the air is still crisp but with a promise of warmth. Wendy wanted nothing more than to lie for hours in her soft Egyptian cotton clad bed and read the romance novel she had just picked up from the public library.

Unfortunately, very unfortunately, she had work to do. The exhibit, which had proved itself very popular the night before, was slated to open to the public that day. While most everything had gone exactly as she and Derek planned, there were inevitably one or two little changes to be made to some of the items based on how the displays had been received by actual guests and the flow of the room.

Wendy wasn't scheduled to work, and the library side of the building would be closed, so if she got there early enough she might be able to make the necessary changes without running into anyone who might ask her to stay on and help. Then she could still enjoy the beauty of the day.

Sufficiently motivated, Wendy jumped out of bed without any more internal grumbling.

It was just reaching seven o'clock, and the streets of North Harbor were completely deserted so early on a Saturday morning. Even the most energetic of tourists wouldn't be out for another hour, and therefore, the businesses that catered to them were still shuttered as well. The town felt sleepy and peaceful, something that Wendy often didn't experience at all during the bustling months of summer, and she walked slowly to appreciate it. She had left her car at home, walking the mile to the library in order to eke out every moment of that perfect Saturday.

The library was locked up tight with no evidence that it had been the scene of a rather loud party the night before. It looked just as quiet and respectable as ever.

Wendy used her keys to open the front door and then automatically went to the panel on the wall to turn off the alarm. Her brow furrowed when she reached for the alarm keypad only to find that the customary beeping, informing her that the alarm would soon sound without her access code, was silent. She looked closer at the pad and confirmed that the alarm wasn't set. Derek must have come in at a truly ungodly hour to get everything just right. She didn't blame him; it was the biggest collection the museum had shown in years.

“Derek,” she called. No answer, but then he wouldn't hear her if he was in the storage room.

As she moved through the entrance area, Wendy automatically turned on each light as she went. Soon the building was as warm and inviting as it would be for the crowds of expected visitors later that morning.

Wendy stopped by her office and dropped her jacket on the back of her chair. Then she went in search of Derek. Her plans to get in and out without being seen were foiled, but if she showed herself early, designated herself the tasks that needed to be done, and didn't give Derek any time to speak, she might just get out in under two hours.

The double doors leading into the museum were tightly shut. Wendy pushed them open only to find the rooms on the other side as gloomy and dark as the entrance had been. The shades were pulled down over the windows, and the lights were all off.

“He's like a vampire,” Wendy muttered. Then she silently corrected herself. She'd known a vampire once, and Derek simply didn't measure up.

“Derek!” she called again. Still there was no answer, though at this point he should have easily heard her no matter where he had hidden himself in the museum.

A cold feeling, like a hard ball of steel, settled itself in her stomach. There had been little signs, flashing at her like obnoxious neon, ever since she walked through the door, and now she was certain. Something was very wrong in this room.

Every fiber of her body, both the ordinary senses and the magical ones, were tingling with warning and anticipation. When she advanced into the room, she moved much slower and with a great deal more caution than she had before.

For once, she didn't turn on any lights. There was a possibility, however remote, that someone was here, and she was no longer sure that it was anyone she wanted to see. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the relative gloom, and soon she could see almost as well as she could in the
well-lit entryway.

Wendy moved through the exhibits, catching glimpses of the town register she had restored, the announcements of witch trials that she had mounted, and the broadsides that depicted the local government in a less than flattering light that she had brought back from near destruction. Everything looked exactly as it had the night before.

Except for a dark shape huddled in the corner.

Wendy stood frozen in place, watching the shape carefully. When it didn't move, she approached, putting one foot in front of the other with agonizing slowness. When she reached the dark shape on the floor, she dropped to her knees with a little cry of pain, but she kept her hands clenched at her sides and didn't try to touch him.

Benny, the night janitor, was unquestionably dead.

Even in the poor light, Wendy could see that his face was dark and bloated and his tongue protruded from between flat, waxy lips.

Overhead, the blaze of lights came on, making Wendy jump up and whirl around. All she could think was that the murderer was still there and that he was going to finish her off. Her fingers, now prone at a sharp angle to her sides, tingled ominously. In the dark, the blue glow emanating from her fingertips was a beacon.

“Wendy?” Derek emerged from the
entranceway, looking left and right as he searched for her.

All the breath left her body in a single hard whoosh, her knees buckling under her so she had to stumble to stay upright. She hid her hands, still blue with repressed electricity, in her pockets.

“Over here,” she croaked, and she was surprised to hear how shaky her voice sounded. “You need to call 911.”

If her mind
were functioning at its usual level, she probably would have known that those words would lead to more explanations, not action.

“What? Why?” Derek sputtered. He was moving towards her, and before she could warn him off, he had spotted Benny's contorted corpse on the floor.

Derek fell silent with his eyes riveted on the body, open so wide they were popping out of his skull. “Is he dead?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Wendy said dully. The adrenaline of the past few minutes was rapidly leaching from her body, leaving her numb and distant.

“Excuse me,” Derek gasped, and he ran away. Wendy heard him retching in the garbage can by the door.

She waited with Benny, standing upright beside him like a silent sentinel. Somehow it didn't seem right to leave him alone.

After a few more minutes, she heard Derek call from the entrance. “I called the police. They're on their way.”

He evidently refused to come back in the room. Coward, Wendy thought, but then she corrected herself. It wasn't right to blame Derek for not wanting to face Benny's dead, staring eyes.

Knowing the police were coming calmed Wendy a bit. Not much, but enough that she glanced down at Benny one more time. What she saw made her heart contract even while her stomach heaved. In the light she glimpsed the look of pure panic and fear written clearly on his every feature.

“You were frightened,” she whispered. A tear rolled slowly down her face and dropped off her chin onto the carpet. “I'm so sorry, Benny.”

Wendy recalled the shy smile and kind, soft words that he greeted her with on those mornings when they crossed paths, and when more tears threatened to fall, she bit down hard on her bottom lip to stop from weeping.

Benny's fingers had stiffened into claws, which grasped ineffectually at his throat. It wasn't difficult to see that he had been strangled or choked to death somehow.

That was an odd point, though. Wendy moved closer, looking under and between Benny's fingers as best she could without touching him, trying to examine his neck. She had enough experience, and had read enough books, to know that strangulation usually left bruising at the least. From what she could see, Benny's neck was completely unmarked.

“It's in there.”

Wendy heard Derek's voice, and she stiffened. On impulse, she held her breath and plucked out a single hair from Benny's head. As the police walked in, she straightened and moved a step away from the body, hiding the hair in her pocket. It took her a moment to process what he'd said, and then she shook her head sadly. To Derek, Benny was already an “it,” some disturbing and inconvenient thing to be disposed of as quickly as possible.

A burly police officer in a neat blue uniform came into the room, bringing with him a sense of competence and energy that Wendy found comforting. He moved immediately to Benny and bent over his body.
The police officer must have come to the same conclusion as Wendy, namely that Benny was beyond help, because he immediately stood up without touching the body.

“I'm Officer Burns,” he said, leading Wendy away from the scene of the crime with a gently yet firm hand. “I understand you found the body.”

“I found
him
this morning when I arrived,” Wendy answered, stressing the pronoun. She had to make sure that Benny wasn't relegated to the status of just a body. For some reason, it seemed important.

“Please sit here, Miss. The detectives will be along shortly, and they will expect to take a statement from you.”

Wendy fell into the wooden chair a little harder than she had intended. Her legs, sensing that there was a surface to catch her, had finally given up the fight and no longer seemed to be functioning properly.

She was still sitting there when the detectives arrived. Two men in suits of conservative color and cut entered and scanned the room. Wendy could see that their sharp attention was taking in every detail, including her.

Aside from their suits, the men could not have been more different. One was lean and wiry with a long chin and beady black eyes. When he narrowed those eyes, as he did when they landed on Wendy, they all but disappeared except for the harsh black pupils. The other man looked like Santa Claus. There was no other way to describe him. Jolly and round with red cheeks and blue eyes, he even had a clipped white beard on his jowly chin.

They made a beeline to Officer Burns, and the trio stood conferring for a while. Once or twice, they cast not-so-subtle glances in her direction, and she knew that the officer was relating his discovery of her standing beside the body. She didn't think he had seen her examining Benny for marks or taking that hair. At least she hoped he hadn't seen her; that might lead to some rather awkward questions.

“Miss Lightower?” the thin detective asked. He paused over her name, waiting for confirmation.

“Wendy, please.”

“I'm Detective Milton, and this is Detective Horn. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course,” she replied wearily.

The jolly-looking Detective Horn spoke next. The voice, grating and harsh, that emerged from him so clashed with his appearance that Wendy almost laughed.

“What were you doing here so early?” he demanded.

Milton narrowed his eyes at his partner. Wendy got the impression that he didn't appreciate his partner's brusque approach.

Wendy answered as calmly as she could. “I am often here this early, Detective. I was planning to get a few things done this morning, so I could have the rest of the day to myself.”

Milton jotted notes in a small black book, while Horn peppered her with his next question.

“What is your position here?”

“I am the head librarian.”

He peered at her, his bright blue eyes managing to convey his suspicion. “What is the librarian doing in the museum? Shouldn't you be in the library?”

Wendy took a deep breath. She was determined to give her statement in a coherent manner and not allow Detective Horn to trip her up. “I came in early to complete the restoration for a few documents in the exhibit that opens today.” She stopped and shook her head. “At least it was meant to open today. I thought Derek might be here, so I went looking for him. That's when I found Benny.”

Milton's pencil was flying across the pages of his notebook as he recorded her statement.

“Did you touch the body?”

Even Milton winced at the accusation in his partner's tone. Wendy bristled, and when she answered, her voice was icy cold.

“No, Detective, I did not. It was quite clear that he was dead.”

“We'll need you to provide fingerprints. For exclusion purposes.”

Unlike most people that Detective Horn was inclined to bully, Wendy had enough education and background in police procedures to know that he was asking for her permission. She wasn't inclined to give it, at least not yet.

“After I've spoken with an attorney, I would be happy to discuss this further, Detective.”