Wicked Tempest: A Kate Waters Mystery (Kate Waters Mysteries Book 2) (7 page)

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kate said. “He waltzed right into my house without an invitation and seemed to know a lot about me, where I worked, my title, even Detective Wells.”

“All to intimidate,” Thea replied.

“So what do you know about the statue? What is it, and where is it?”

“The statue is dangerous, and we should all keep our distance from it. That’s all you need to know.”

“Why?”

“It’s cursed.”

“The curse, right.” Kate had no desire to return to that conversation. Curses were fantasy and mythology, fabricated acts devised by vengeful teens, not matters that thirty-something women believed in. Though she had experienced an unsettling ghost-like encounter in the last house she had lived in, which she still half-blamed on her narcolepsy, it was a far reach from real-life curses.

Three young women in heels and skirts walked up to the bar. “Hold on,” Thea said to Kate. She poured them three glasses of white wine, swiped one’s card, and slipped the receipt in the cash drawer. She came back over to Kate.

“Could Andre’s visit have been driven by your dislike for Brooke?”

“Maybe. It’s complicated. You know how relationships are?”

Kate eyed her, wondering if somehow she knew about her troubles with David. She sipped her drink. No, she thought. Only a coincidence. Thea was avoiding something.

“Andre doesn’t like me,” Thea admitted at Kate’s silence. “No secret there.”

“Why?”

Thea shifted on her feet, her gaze scanning the back wall of the bar. “Why should I care? He’s an asshole.”

“You should care because Brooke is dead, and you wanted to curse her?”

“Andre’s feelings about me have nothing to do with Brooke’s death or the fact that I may have wanted to curse her.”

“Don’t you think it’s coincidental that you were concerned for Brooke’s life, and then she just happened to be dead five minutes later?”

“She was struck by lightning. Hardly foul play.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” Kate changed the subject. “Would anyone else have known about the statue? What if someone was in the house before us? The door was open, remember? Seems as though someone could have stolen the statue before we arrived.”

Thea shrugged. “Brooke was a social butterfly. It could be anyone.”

“What about the other women in your coven, like Donna.”

Thea shook her head. “Donna? We both know Donna well enough to know that she’d never steal anything from anyone.”

No, but maybe you would? A suspicion, which seemed to only grow more. She hadn’t directly asked Thea if she had stolen the statue, but didn’t think it would do any good. Thea only admitted what she wanted to.

“Look,” Thea said, as if on second thought. “I’ll talk to Andre. Make sure that he doesn’t bother you again. You don’t need to be dragged into this. You have enough going on.”

“It’s already too late. I’m a part of the investigation.”

“There won’t be an investigation. The authorities will determine she was struck by lightning and that will be that.”

Kate leaned over the counter toward Thea and spoke with a hushed voice. “But you said a storm is coming, and that more people are going to die.”

The comment seemed to pull Thea from the casual attitude she had attempted to establish and back to truer feelings.

“Leave it to me,” she said. “I’ll take care of it.”

Kate tossed back the rest of her gin, thinking of just how Thea might take care of it. How her sister Jev would have said the same thing. Jev and Thea were a lot alike, with their confidence, stubbornness, and troublesome secrecy.

“I can see why my sister liked you,” Kate said. “Jev knew more than what was good for her and always tried to take care of things herself too. Plus, like you, though not as subtle, she would have told Andre to go lick his balls.”

Thea laughed, then fell quiet. The mention of Jev bled a heavy silence between them. Her death had only been six months ago. Memories were still fresh, but starting to fade at the edges, like old newspaper.

“You’re like Jev too,” Thea said. “Maybe not as outspoken, but you have that same deep strength and persistence that puts people on edge. I imagine Andre wasn’t expecting such spunk from you.”

Kate disagreed, not remembering the last time she had felt strong or spirited. She turned away from thoughts of Jev and let her worry sink into that hollow place instead. “And what about the curse and the statue? How will you take care of that?”

Thea placed her hand on Kate’s wrist and squeezed lightly. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Do you still have Jev’s witchcraft books?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I suggest you do a protection spell. Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

Thea didn’t answer, and she wouldn’t talk any more about it, said she had to get back to work. Kate left Walter Biddy’s feeling even more anxious than when she went in. The trees had turned black against the deepening dusk and spread their dark limbs long. One of them snagged on the fabric of her unease and began unraveling it thread by thread.

***

Four days ago, they had lost Jim in the gray waters of the Pacific Ocean. Keith woke more than once to the memory of searching for him in the storm. The seas were rough, the waves bigger than usual, and Keith had told Nick and Barry that it was either Jim or all of them. A twinge of guilt flexed at the back of his jaw, but he rubbed it away and reminded himself there was nothing he could have done. He had still made the right decision. One dead man was better than four.

He sat down at his desk, tired from the two-and-a-half hour drive back from Newport. The station was quiet tonight, with most officers either out on duty or on call at home. A warm bottle of 7-Up, a ladder of sticky notes and return messages, an empty score card for the Blazers semi-finals, and a stack of police reports cluttered his desk. He sifted through the reports, then stopped, and flipped the folders shut. These things could wait. He had other priorities, like reading through the autopsy report on Jim that the medical examiner recently posted. As an assistant investigator to the homicide and detective division, Keith had login access to most records in the database, except for some of the classified ones, which he doubted Jim’s case would be filed under.

He glanced out the window of his office, down the dimly lit hallway studded with framed police photos and plaques, to confirm he was alone, and then scanned through the details:

Location of body: Rockaway Beach

Time: 6 a.m.

Approximate time of death: 3 a.m.

Cause of death: fluid asphyxiation (drowning)

Clothing on body: tattered wetsuit

Items found on body: nothing

Marks on body: Lichtenberg’s Flowers on back of neck, possible flashover burn from nearby lightning strike.

Keith paused, rereading the description of a flashover burn. A link referred him to a photograph. He clicked on it. A close-up picture of Jim’s neck revealed a mark with a red center and branches extending out like those on fan coral reefs. The abrasion didn’t look like anything he had ever seen before, almost as if it were a tattoo. Then something scratched at the surface of his consciousness. A thin memory thickened in his mind. He had seen that mark before. Wasn’t it similar to the symbol engraved on the statue of Rán?  

Keith opened Google, located the website, Ancient Spanish Artifacts, and typed in Rán. An old painting of what the statue looked like blinked up—the Sea Goddess embellished with gold inlay and jewels. In one hand, she held a snake, its jaw open to long, sharp fangs, and in the other hand, a staff capped with a pointed seashell. Inside the seashell was a large, smoke-colored diamond, one that was supposed to be very rare. On the middle of her chest, above the coil of another snake, was a red spiral of arms that squiggled out like veined branches.

Keith pulled up both pictures on his monitor, the one of Rán and the one of the mark on Jim’s neck. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

“What the fuck?”

The similarities between the two marks jabbed him with a troubling thought. This couldn’t be a coincidence; the odds were too great. Jim had to have found the statue. He must have washed ashore with it, and whoever had taken it, had drawn the symbol onto his neck, for whatever reason. To warn or boast? Even though he couldn’t imagine the coroner mistaking a naturally occurring abrasion over a fabricated one, he could think of no other logical explanation.

He recollected what Nick had said about the statue’s curse. He hadn’t believed in it then, but now, either someone was playing a gag on them or the curse was real. 

If the heart of a city was downtown, then Portland’s soul was Hawthorne Boulevard, the Mecca, abuzz with quaint bars, specialty restaurants, new age shops, theaters, food pubs, and sidewalks crowded with people that Kate and David called, "interesting folk.”

Kate turned onto Harrison Street and searched for Thea’s dark green Tudor with mud-gray trim and a matte-black door. When she found the house, she parked one block up. Thea lived alone, as far as she knew, so if she were at work, the house should be empty.

Before leaving her car, she listened to a message on her phone from David, telling her he had landed, loved her, and would call soon. She put her phone in the glove box, not wanting to risk a chance of dropping it in Thea’s house or him calling while she was inside. She locked up the car and strolled down the street beneath the shade and soft rustle of maples and oak. The rain hadn’t started, but the winds were bringing the moisture in on a cool breeze.

Kate located Thea’s house and crossed the lawn with a quick stride. A wind chime clanked at the corner of the roof, a soothing sound, yet eerie too. Rosemary and sage lined the walkway and a blue, white, and black evil-eye charm hung above the front door. From outside, Thea’s house looked normal, but Kate imagined it wouldn’t be on the inside. There was nothing normal about Thea, despite the fact that she was human like everyone else.

Kate trekked carefully alongside a laurel hedge and down a grassy path to the gate at the backyard. She didn’t see any cars or pedestrians traveling by. Thea’s house was dark and silent, and no visible alarms, light sensors, or security stickers informed the onlooker—she presumed Thea would have other means of diverting burglars, but hoped not to find out what those could be.

“Here goes nothing,” she said, throwing her purse over the fence and then heaving herself up and over the gate. She fell to the ground, landing on her knees in wet, muddy grass. At least Thea didn’t have a dog, Kate thought, scanning the large, grassy backyard surrounded by laurel and cedar. Most of the shades were drawn and prevented anyone from peering inside. Kate shined the flashlight through a gap in a curtain and glimpsed a shelf in the corner of what appeared to be the living room. The backdoor had a lock as old as the house—no deadbolt, just a flimsy old-fashioned knob.

“Let’s see if VISA is accepted here,” she said pulling a credit card from her wallet. She had seen David pick the lock on their old house once after they had locked themselves out. She slipped the card in between the doorframe above the lock and applied downward pressure. Nothing happened. She gave the doorknob a firm jiggle, but the lock wouldn’t release. Wiggling the card a little harder and twisting it to the side, the lock finally clicked, and the door pushed open.

Handy, she thought and sneaked into the house. She drew a flashlight from her purse and clicked it on. The entry put her in the kitchen, with its small cottage-like charm, rustic décor, dried herbs, and basket of fruit. In the living room, Thea continued the rustic-cottage theme with plants, ceramics, and quilts. The house was clean and neat, not the eclectic and messy atmosphere Kate had expected.

The dining room to the left opened up into a hallway with more rooms. If Thea was anything like her sister Jev, whatever she might be hiding wouldn’t be found in the living room or kitchen. Kate made her way toward the bedrooms down the hall.

A voice at the back of her mind shouted louder than ever and prodded her about exactly what she was doing, warning her that somehow, Thea would find out and curse her too. Furthermore, what she was doing was illegal. Besides, was it worth their friendship? Kate believed it had to be. She needed to know if Thea was lying to her.

Kate moved slowly down the hall. Careful not to attract attention, she limited the sway of the flashlight, keeping the beam to the floor. She stopped at the first doorway on her left. Something thumped behind her. Her heart kicked in her chest, and she jerked around. The flashlight lit up an empty hallway. No one was there. Then, on the floor, a small, black shadow slinked and darted into the living room, staring back at her with glowing green eyes.

Kate found her breath. “Sorry, buddy.”

She turned back to the bedroom door, heart still racing, and opened it. She peered inside. A guest room, which probably didn’t harbor a coveted artifact that Thea had gone to great lengths to get. Kate moved on to the other two rooms at the end of the hallway, a bedroom and a den, one similar to Jev’s den where she had found her witchcraft supplies. Kate imagined Thea stored hers in a similar area, Jev having learned it from her.

She stepped into the den, half startled by a life-size cardboard cutout of Spock from
Star Trek
in the corner. “Live long and prosper” didn’t seem like Thea’s thing, but then again, she had no clue what Thea’s thing really was. She had expected her house to embody darkness and mystery, with strange bug-eating plants, jars full of odd and disproportionately slimy things, hangings made of bones, bizarre artwork…witchy things, not something her dad would strike up a conversation over.

Kate went to the closet. Closets kept secrets. Jev had kept hers there, locked up in an old chest. She opened the bi-fold doors. Inside were jars of herbs and colorful vials, see-through bags of rocks and shells, a small metal bowl, ceramic dishes, candles, incense, and a stack of metaphysical books piled on a shelf. She searched through a desk, a dresser, and underneath a chair. Nothing.

Kate went across the hall into Thea’s bedroom and considered that even if the statue wasn’t in her bedroom, it didn’t mean Thea didn’t have the statue. She might have hidden it somewhere outside the house, but if that were the case, then she would never know.

Thea’s bedroom smelled of pine and orange. Kate set her purse on the bed and shined the light in her walk-in closet. Her heartbeat broke in two. In the center of the closet was an object suspended in mid-air. A statue. Thea had lied to her. She couldn’t believe it. Thea had stolen the statue from Brooke and lied straight to her face, even after everything they had discussed tonight. She never admitted to taking it.

The sharp teeth of betrayal bit into Kate again, same as it had when she had discovered Jev’s witchcraft supplies and learned of her faith and practice. Jev and Thea hadn’t trusted her, which had hurt more than anything else. A knot grew in Kate’s throat and threatened to choke her.

With anger brewing beneath it all, Kate pushed her bitter feelings back, swallowing them like dry pills, and returned her thoughts to the statue. She shined the flashlight over its details, a woman adorned with gold, jewels, and intricate markings carved into her elegant attire of shells and seaweed. A snake wrapped around her middle and coiled up over her shoulder. The statue wasn’t any longer than her forearm, but it looked very old, ancient even. In one hand, the woman held a stick with a shell at the top. A smoky-colored jewel, even as dirty as it was, glittered from inside. With a professional cleaning, the statue would be exquisite.

Outside, a car door slammed shut. Panic gripped Kate by the throat. She hurried to a corner in the room and ducked out of sight. Then she peeked out the window and saw someone, a man, getting out of a blue sedan parked at the corner of Thea’s yard. He walked around to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Kate’s mouth went dry and her legs shook at the thought of the various scenarios unfolding in her head.

The man reached inside the trunk and pulled out a box. A familiar beer logo was on the side of it. Kate let out a heavy breath and watched the man cross the lawn next door. Someone opened the door, music streamed out, and two people bantered before going inside.

Much too close, Kate thought. She tiptoed back to the statue, taking in Thea’s strange efforts to secure the statue in mid-air. Fishing wire was wrapped around the middle of it and attached to a hook in the ceiling so that it dangled as if hovering evenly between the floor and ceiling. Her gaze fell to the floor, to the objects placed beneath the statue. Five black rocks connected by twigs formed the shape of a pentacle. In each point of the star, Thea had placed the four elements: a candle, incense, a bowl of water and another of salt. At the top point of the pentacle was a chalice filled with a dried, dark red substance. Blood. Thea’s or someone else’s?

Kate studied the statue again. A symbol on the breast of it caught her eye. She leaned in close and shined the flashlight over it. A mark on the woman’s chest drew a cold memory forth. It resembled the mark she had seen on the back of Brooke’s neck.

Kate leaned back from the statue. “That can’t be.” She glanced at the symbol again, hoping she had seen wrong, that it would be something else like encrusted dirt or a sticker of some sort, but it wasn’t. It matched the lightning mark on Brooke’s neck. She was positive of it, an image she couldn’t erase from her mind if she tried.

The feeling of watchful eyes weighed on Kate. She spun around to a bare room, peered out the window at the vacant street, and then listened intently for footsteps, heavy breath, or the brush of a hand down the wall. Still alone, but maybe not for long, she thought.

There was one person she didn’t want to bump into tonight. Andre Singer. As much as Kate hated to admit it, he was right about the statue. One of them had stolen it. While Kate wasn’t happy with Thea at the moment, she still didn’t want anything to happen to her. They had been through too much together. As long as she had the statue, she was at risk for whatever Andre might do, if his threats held any weight. Since Andre had already visited her, the best place for the statue was at her house. Moreover, she thought a taste of her own medicine would do Thea some good.

Kate grabbed the statue, tugged on the fishing line until the cord snapped from the hook. Carefully, she folded her scarf around the statue, put it in her purse, and headed through the kitchen to the backdoor. She turned the lock on the inside before shutting it—no matter that once Thea realized the statue was missing, she would know someone had broken in anyway.

As Kate walked back to her car, the wind whipped at her and mimicked the mood that tossed around in her thoughts. Thea had lied. Just when Kate was starting to trust her.

Kate couldn’t get inside her car fast enough, eager to be safe and in her own space again, not to mention out of the weather. A large gust of wind rocked the car side to side like a small quake might do. A tree limb split from its branch and flew down toward her car. The branch smacked against her windshield and cracked the corner. A crack with lines extending out from the center. Lichtenberg’s Flowers.

The storm is coming.

Kate feared it was already around her.

***

A dishwater sky drizzled rain outside the window near Kate’s desk at work. A cold, spring day that contrasted with the intense heat and pressure building at the rift zone 100 miles off the coast of Newport, Oregon. Kate busied herself preparing for the expedition, which she, Bruce, and Stewart planned to take with a team of scientists who worked periodically with NOAA. Kate saw it as attention-consuming preparations that took her mind off Brooke’s death, the statue, and Thea’s deceptive ways.

She sifted through a bag of diving supplies, wondering how much Stewart expected of her deep-water skills—it had been over five years since her last dive, and that was in temperate, clear-blue waters. She crossed off the items on her list as she packed them.

Bruce came into the room, a bounce in his step. “Are you ready?”

“I’m getting there.” She looked up at him. “Why aren’t you diving?”

“I climb mountains. I don’t swim around them.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no fish either.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself.” Bruce steered for his desk, then stopped. “Before I forget, I talked with the oceanographer, Nick Bratton. They’ve been in Newport for the past week, and will meet with us tomorrow at 9 a.m., so we’ve got to get out of here no later than 6:30.”

Kate rubbed the side of her head. “Might as well sleep in my clothes.”

Bruce glanced down at her shirt. “You don’t already?”

Kate realized her blouse had many wrinkles in the front and on the arms, but on closer inspection, Bruce had a large orange spot on the hem of his shirt. “Well, at least I don’t need a bib.”

He lowered his chin to examine the stain. Then, he brought the shirt up to his mouth and sucked on it. “Hmm, taco sauce.”

“You’re sick.”

He smiled. “See, one more reason why I shouldn’t dive.”

Kate’s cell phone buzzed on her desk. It was Thea. She contemplated answering it, but what would she tell her about the statue if she asked? It was likely the reason for her call. She picked up the phone, stepped over a heap of bags, and walked into the hallway. “Hello?”

“Kate, it’s going to happen again.”

Kate ducked into the conference room where she could talk privately. She shut the door. “What are you talking about, Thea?”

“The storms…someone else is going to die.”

“Thea, you sound crazy when you say things like that.”

“Is Brooke dead or not?”

“Her death was a coincidence, an unfortunate accident. You said so yourself.”

“By a freak lightning storm.” Thea sighed.

Kate heard Stewart’s voice in the hallway. “It’s not the best time for me to talk. I’m getting ready for a dive expedition.”

“Has your mind already gone off the deep end?”