Witch One Dunnit? (Rachael Penzra mystery) (18 page)

       “She’s
promised
to do it,” Lucinda told him, sternly.  “She knows what it means to me.  She’s a mother, too.  She
has
to help me.”

       He didn’t look convinced, but he kept silent.

       “I promised,” I admitted.  “But so far I haven’t been any help at all.”  I thought about my own children.  What if the circumstances were reversed?  I’d want every force, every chance, working towards finding the murderer, and I’d want it
now.
  It would be sufficient if I only wanted whoever it was stopped so the harm couldn’t happen to anyone else’s child, but I’d want more.  I’d want revenge.  I was not an Elena.  I couldn’t step away from the immediate emotions and think about the overall effect of an event a hundred years from now.

       “The memorial service is tomorrow,” Lucinda said, as though she hadn’t heard me.  I don’t think she was hearing much that didn’t effect her goal of finding her daughter’s killer.  “I’m having everybody come to my house afterwards.  I want you to mingle, talk to every last one of them.  The service is at two o’clock.  You’re usually not open much later than that on Sundays anyway, are you Rachael?”

       “Ah, no.  Sundays are usually pretty slow.”

       “I’ll see all of you tomorrow,” she said abruptly, before rising to leave.

       “Sheesh!” Patsy said it for us all as soon as the door closed.  “Scary, isn’t she?”

       “Yes, she is.” David didn’t smile.  He turned to me.  “I hope you’re thinking about exactly what you’re getting yourself into.  That woman is putting all of her grief into anger.  Revenge is what’s keeping her going, and that can be a dangerous thing.”

       Actually, what I was thinking about was the fact David had known a few psychics in his time, and that he was unusually accepting of the fact I was a psychic witch.  I was also thinking about the way he seemed to be warning me against getting involved in Lucinda’s investigation of her daughter’s death.  I wished I could get just the slightest grasp on what was going on in his head, but as usual there was nothing whatsoever I could get a mental grip on.  When I realized my brow was actually furrowed in my effort to peek into David’s mind, I gave up and tuned back into the conversation around me.

       “I haven’t got anything decent to wear,” Patsy was moaning.  “I never thought I’d need that kind of clothes
here!
” 

       “Wear that long paisley skirt you bought,” I told her.  “The skirt and that short-sleeved black top will do fine.”  I quickly mentally reviewed what I owned that was both clean and pressed.  Unfortunately I take as much care with my wardrobe as I do with my make-up and hair.  If it’s comfortable, I wear it.  If it’s not, I don’t.  As I mentally inventoried my closet, it occurred to me I might need to take a little time off to go shopping.

       David rose from the table.  “I didn’t mean to impose on you this long.  I’m afraid I felt impelled to stay when Lucinda... dragged me in here and sat me down.”

       We all burst into laughter.  That was exactly what had happened.  He left us, still chuckling, saying he’d see us in the morning.  I watched him leave, and told myself I was simply being paranoid about a nice man.  He was just concerned about my well-being.  That was all.  He was perfectly pleasant, and he was a good employee.  So what if I couldn’t see into his mind?  That didn’t mean anything.  I ignored my own advice about trusting my instincts.

   If it smells like a turd, looks like a turd, and tastes like a turd.... I grabbed his employment information off the counter.  Nothing of interest.  It stated that he was born in New York City, so he wasn’t a foreigner. I recognized his current address was in the trailer park at the edge of town.  I put it away in my files.

       The only thing really on my mind at the moment was surviving the memorial service. I’d go talk to people and let impressions sink in.  I’d really open myself up. Sure I would.  I’d freeze as I usually do at gatherings, and just manage to do my social duty.  I’m still not good with a lot of people around.  My mind pretty much blanks out and I ride the panic of shyness.  If any special impressions got through, they’d have to gate-crash

CHAPTER TEN 

From the Wiccan Rede:

Heed the North Wind’s mighty gale

Lock the door and drop the sail.

       The memorial service was bizarre.  To say it was a mixture of cultures would be to understate the case.  Most of those invited, and it was a private affair due to the publicity of murder, were local.  The family was apparently just as small as Lucinda had claimed.  She entered the town’s nondenominational church with two protective women hovering around her like well-trained guard dogs, but when it was time for the seating, they fell back behind the family pews, leaving her alone with Peter and Ronnie.  The brother-in-law and his son were dressed normally; that is to say they wore formal suits and ties.  Lucinda, though, had gone all out for her outré personality.  She wore a long dress of soft, shimmering, rainbow colors, layer after layer dropping from her shoulders.  If I hadn’t been able to see her arms pop out several times, I would have sworn there was no rhyme or reason to the shape of the dress.  On her head she wore a tiara, flashing with diamonds (or reasonable facsimiles) and various other stones.  She glittered and shone and flashed and sparkled at her daughter’s funeral.

       There was nothing funny about it, though.  She was dressed as though she was celebrating the death, and I had to respect the courage it took to defy convention.  Only the tears hanging unreleased in her eyes gave any hint of loss.  The man who spoke to us, whom I assumed was also a witch, wore a black robe and cowl.  A somber black in his case, but his talk was anything but sorrowful.  He spoke of beginnings and ends that flowed into one another, therefore never truly beginning
or
ending, only seeming to in our limited vision.  He read a Native American poem, entreating us not to grieve for someone who was actually still with us – in the wind, the flowers, the day and the night. 

       He was a very gifted speaker.  Afterwards I wasn’t sure if he was promoting reincarnation or simply reminding us that truth really was ashes to ashes, dust to dust, and every breath we took brought into our bodies a minute mote of what had been someone or something else at one time.  We breathe in trees and birds, humans and oceans with every inhalation.  It was unbelievably comforting to think about his words. Death hadn’t lost its entire stranglehold of fear, but I was left feeling there was no end of life, only different forms.  I thought of Aunt Josie and her belief in the power contained in stones, as though even they were alive.  I’d have to pay more attention to the world in the future.

       I wondered how the locals who weren’t witches were handling the ceremony.  None of them seemed particularly surprised or uncomfortable. They must have had some idea of what to expect.

       Moondance, dressed only a little less fabulously than the chief mourner, wept openly.  The rest of us were too enthralled by the talk to weep.  We were being given the gift of joy in the midst of sorrow.  Perhaps it was selfish, but I think it left all of us feeling closer to Shelly than most of us had felt during her short lifetime.

       When the talk was over, most of us just sat there for a moment.  Then there was a movement towards Lucinda, and we were released from the spell.  And it
had
been a spell.  It had been woven with beauty and faith and hope.  Nothing negative had been present.  We weren’t reminded of our own failings, our own mortality.  We were told that death doesn’t exist except in our small minds, and for a short time we believed and understood.  The murder was never referred to.  It was as though the cause of death was unimportant, far secondary to the event itself. 

       It put everything into perspective, if only for the moment.

       Patsy, I found, was absolutely dumbfounded.  “I can’t believe it!” she whispered to me.  “Did you hear all that?  It was beautiful.  I want to talk to that man.  Look, he’s talking to David.  Let’s go over there and see if we can meet him.”

       I told her I felt I should speak with Lucinda first, and left her to make her way through the small crowd.

       “There you are,” Lucinda grabbed me when I reached her side, her arm shooting out from her robes with deadly accuracy.  “What did you think?  Did you feel any vibrations from anyone?”

       Well aware that people around us were watching and listening, I tried to make it sound as if she meant something different.  I put enthusiasm in my voice, but no malice.  “That man is
wonderful
!” I gushed.  “I could
feel
his vibes.  I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a compelling speaker!”

       She looked a little startled at my gushy tone and the fact that I was avoiding answering her question, and then her own tone changed over to slyness.  She patted my arm to show we had our little secret.  “Yes, he was excellent.  He said everything that should be said at a time like this.  I’d heard he was quite good, but I’d never actually heard him speak before.  It was a good choice, wasn’t it?”  She raised her voice, still holding me close beside her.  “Listen, everyone.  I want all of you so come to my house as soon as you can get there.  We’re leaving now.  I’m counting on you.”  With that said, still clinging to my arm, she turned and headed towards the door.  I felt more like a prisoner than a volunteer.

       Outside, I disengaged myself as gently as I could.  “I have to find Patsy,” I told her.  “She’s riding with me.  We’ll be there as quickly as I can locate her.”

       She wasn’t happy with my desertion, but she allowed me to escape.  She headed, alone, to her own car.  Shelley had been cremated and there would be no gravesite. Others, who had followed us out, stood back uncertainly, waiting for her to lead the way.  I headed back inside the mortuary to find my niece.

       I found her, but had missed my chance to meet the speaker.  She’d talked to him for a minute and managed to pry some literature from him before he left.  “He doesn’t believe in staying to promote himself,” she said, smugly tucking her literature into her purse.  “He feels word of mouth is all the help he needs. I think David might know him, though.  Really know him, I mean.  Person to person.”

       That was interesting, but we had to get to Lucinda’s house, so I told her Lucinda wanted us right away, and hustled her out. When we got to the house, my niece wisely headed straight for the food spread out at the far end of the massive dining room.  I would have followed, but Percy waylaid me. He was extremely easy to read, unfortunately for me.  In his confusion about his sexual-preferences he was honing in on Patsy, maybe thinking that if he wasn’t attracted to
normal
looking girls, perhaps he’d be attracted to someone with red and purple hair.  And a nose ring.

       He apparently also thought I could help him to attract her attention.

       “I see Patsy has found the buffet,” he giggled nervously.

       I hate obvious statements.  They require an answer, despite the absolute lack of need for one.  “Why, yes she has, Percy.  I suppose she’s hungry.”

       “Did she like the speaker today?  I thought he was very interesting.  Maybe she’d like to talk about it,” he said, staring down at his feet.

       “She was very taken with the speaker, and I’m sure she’d love to discuss it,” I assured him.  He, too, wore a cowled robe, but somehow he managed to look more like a chubby monk than the mysterious figure I was sure had been his intention.  All he needed was a Saint Bernard with a barrel tied to its collar to stand as an advertisement for something both religious and European – and possibly alcoholic.  Kindly, I released him to go off and try to find himself attracted to my niece

       He hurried off and I found myself feeling very sorry for the poor young man.  And for Patsy, who would be stuck with him.  I was unhappy to see that she was treating him with less than her usual pleasantness.  I wondered, briefly, what he had said or done wrong.

   I followed, more slowly, to the food table.  I hadn’t had lunch.   I showed my own nature by starting to fill my plate away from the two young people.  The choice of food was unbelievable, and all my instinctive avarice rose to the surface.  I’ve always been a comfort-food fan.  This was comfort-food on a gourmet scale.  I helped myself to tiny cream puffs filled with deviled ham and chicken, took a bit of herring in sour cream and wine sauce, tested some smoked fish, and allowed myself a bit of what I assumed must be caviar.  I carefully dabbed some on the little crackers provided.  With a glass of wine to top off the sensation of living like the Rich and the Famous, I turned to find a private corner to enjoy my food uninterrupted.

       It’s embarrassing to realize that I was so absorbed in my food collection that I was overly startled when I, head down protectively over my plate, turned and walked straight into Peter Pfeiffer.  My wrist went limp and the plate slanted forward, all of my goodies headed for his clothes.  He quickly grabbed the plate and righted it before it spilled all over his lovely suit.  Personally, I was more worried about the food landing on the floor than on his suit, but I could understand his concern.  I apologized profusely. 

       “No, no,” he insisted.  “Entirely my fault.  I startled you.”

       I muttered polite disclaimers.  The truth of the matter was he
had
startled me, not because of anything he’d done, but because my own concentration had been entirely centered on my food.  And he’d approached me from behind, rather than beside me along the food table.  On top of that, I hardly knew him at all, and as I’ve said, I’m not good with people, particularly new people.

       “I was thinking about that wonderful speaker,” I told him.  Another lie.  I’d been concentrating on the food, wondering if I could taste the qualities of various items with discrimination.  I tend to be a gulper.

       He gave a skeptical look, but accepted the excuse readily enough.  “Wasn’t he wonderful? Lucinda wouldn’t tell us ahead of time who she’d lined up to speak, but I know she had a devil of a time getting him.  I don’t know what turned the tide, but you know my sister-in-law.”  He chuckled, and I had to nod in agreement.  What I didn’t know about her, I was rapidly learning.  I guessed being her brother-in-law hadn’t always been a bed of roses.

       “I didn’t catch his name,” I said.  “But I’d love to hear or read more about him.”  I was relieved to have a subject we were both happy with.  I’m not good at conversation with strangers, but he was carrying his share of the burden.  I couldn’t, though, bring myself to do more than nibble at the food while he stood there next to me.  Like my religion, I consider my gluttony to be a private matter.

       “Lucinda tells us she’s hired you to help her find who killed Shelly.  Do you think you can be of much help?”

       That subject almost succeeded in taking away my appetite, but he seemed so sincerely interested I blurted out the truth.  “I don’t see how I can.  I can’t make things like that happen, you know.  I’m afraid she’s wasting her time with me.  She should depend on the professionals.”

       “I agree,” he assured me.  “Still, she seems to have a lot of faith in your ability.  She felt the same way about your aunt, you know.  The woman could do no wrong in her eyes, and your aunt thought
your
talents were extraordinary.”

`      “Well, they aren’t,” I admitted.  “I really don’t know how to use them properly.  They just pop into my mind.  Having an idea, or an opinion, about something isn’t the same as proving it in a court of law.”

       “I don’t think Lucinda’s worried about the law,” he said.  “But of course I can understand your side of it.  Slander isn’t something that’s acceptable nowadays.  Certainly it’s not cheap.  I’m happy nobody can say anything negative about my son’s attitude towards his cousin.  They were very close.”

       I probably looked as startled as I felt.  Slander?  I hadn’t ever thought of my flashes of knowledge as being
slanderous
, of all things.

       “Suing seems to be a national pastime, doesn’t it?” Robert had approached us without my being aware of his proximity.  I couldn’t tell if Peter’s remarks had been aimed toward me or him.  Karyn, as usual, was right behind her mentor-slash-love interest. 

       “Wasn’t that man wonderful?” she asked us, ignoring (or changing) the subject.  

       Moondance approached with a large man in tow, definitely a Scandinavian from his blond coloring and size.  He sported that long jaw, too.  “I was transported,” she informed us.  “Oh, this is my husband, Jimbo.  This is Rachael.  I told you all about her.”