Trace of Evil, page 5
“It’s terrible, but not to worry. The crime is almost ancient.” My attempt to minimize the news gave my sister the impetus to rehash the dangers of me living alone. When will I learn to think before I speak?
On our way home, an old storefront with a jumbled-looking window whose sign said, antiques, sidetracked us. Kirsten was unable to resist anything that predated our parents, although I’d always considered these so-called treasures expensive castaways. I never quite understood the attraction, but I followed her across the street.
The inside resembled a church rummage sale rather than a collection of fine old artifacts. From my position by the door, I spied furniture, paintings, old toys, and jewelry in no apparent order.
In a loud whisper, Kirsten said, “I like this place.”
I tried not to use the word “junk” in my mind and inspected the “stuff,” turning every time she said, “Hey, Dani. How do you like this?”
Worried I might get whiplash, I headed to her side of the room. “Whoops,” I said as I tripped over a pot on the floor.
Kirsten lunged and caught me before I did any damage. Her parental glare preceded her censure. “Be careful. You never pay attention to where you’re going.”
The proprietor, an older woman with jet-black hair—a bad dye job—an ankle-length, flared skirt, and jangling bracelets gave me a nervous stare and moved in closer.
Kirsten pointed to an old desk. “I love this Governor Winthrop. Look at the lines.”
An inkwell perched on top looked interesting. Careful where I stepped, I went over, secured my find, and asked the woman who’d been shadowing me since I’d cried whoops, “How much for this?”
I old writing tool would fit into a 1700’s room and might be the beginning of a new appreciation for antiques. I didn’t want to start too big.
The price was fair. She said, “I’ve got an old quill pen around here somewhere I’ll throw in.” She must have forgiven me for my almost mishap.
“Excellent,” I told her.
Kirsten smirked at my attempt to show off my first antique purchase.. Not quite ready for the big time.
I wandered off on my own again toward the back of the shop. An assortment of small statues in a shadowy nook caught my attention. In the poor lighting, I leaned closer. When a slight breeze cooled my neck, I swiveled around. No one was near me. Nothing moved.
“Dani, look at what I found.”
The eerie atmosphere quashed my interest in the tiny figurines I was delighted to hear my sister’s voice.
“This would be awesome in your bedroom.”
Glad to move away from the dark corner, I took care as I navigated the room. “What?”
With a flourish, she raised her arm. Hanging from her fingers was an old metal lantern. One that had seen better days. My face must have shown my displeasure. In a no-nonsense tone, she said, “It’s a housewarming gift.”
Pouting like a sulky kid, I said, “What am I supposed to do with a lantern?”
Out of patience, she fell into the familiar role of older sister. Ever since we were kids, we’d disagreed on almost everything.
“I want you to have a special present. This light was made for an old fireplace.”
Figures. My description of the bedroom intrigued her. Before I could respond, a voice from behind me said, “That’s an interesting piece.” The woman I’d dubbed “Gypsy” was speaking to Kirsten. “This came from a house in Salem said to be haunted.”
Oh good. Another ghost story. Arms crossed, I glared at my sister, who ignored me and gave the woman her complete attention. “Oh?”
Peering over the glasses on the end of her nose, Gypsy leaned in and lowered her voice. “They say the spirit was a Mooncusser. This is the lantern he used to search through the wreckage spread across the rocks.”
My nerve endings zinged. Did the room get darker? I chanced a peek around at all the old stuff in the room and grimaced. Each piece, no doubt, had a ghost associated with it. Although I didn’t want to believe in them, the idea of hauntings made me nervous. While I stood there wreathed in discomfort, Kirsten, the intrepid, wanted more.
“What’s a Mooncusser?” she said.
Gypsy folded her arms. “A parasite.” With a dramatic sigh, she continued.. “In the late nineteenth century, there were many shipwrecks along the rocky coasts. A few people made money from salvaging their goods. Mooncussers were different, though. They didn’t wait for a tragedy to happen. They used their lanterns on stormy nights to signal a safe haven to ships in trouble, luring hapless vessels onto the rocks, where they salvaged the wrecks.” Disgust filled her voice. “They were cold-blooded killers who scoured the awful carnage they created for any items of value.”
When the back-room curtain twitched for no apparent reason, I jumped. From beneath the drape, a haughty calico cat glared.
Kirsten’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Why did they call them Mooncussers?”
Gypsy pursed her lips. “Moonlight made their gruesome work more dangerous, so they cussed it.” Turning to me, she said, “In those days, they used whale oil to light their lanterns. I’d suggest you buy kerosene.”
Oh, yeah. That’s what I needed. A murderer’s lantern.
After the story, Kirsten liked the ugly light even more and bought the thing despite my objections. I decided the lantern would make a great addition to the cellar.
“What if this thing’s cursed?” I asked. I didn’t believe there was anything wrong with the lantern, but I wanted to emphasize her high-handed treatment of her baby sister.
She poked me. “Don’t be silly. It’s just an old lantern.”
~ * ~
Kirsten approved my apartment and carried on about how great the fireplace was with the addition of her gift. “I told you. This lamp is perfect here.”
I hated to admit she was right, but the lantern did fit in. It might have been made for the hearth. I told her so, thanked her, and unwrapped my purchase. “This new inkwell will make a great addition to my office.”
I hesitated and gave the loft a wary glance. No smoky blobs. I ran upstairs to place the pen and inkwell on the right-hand corner of the desk, as if I used the quill for writing. I resolved to buy ink and try out my purchases. Now I owned two antiques. For a moment, I gazed at the fireplace, imagining what the hearth must have been in its day with the crackle of the wood and the spray of sparks as a log shifted in the fire.
“Are you going to admire your handiwork all day?” Kirsten said.
I snapped out of my daydream and wondered at the bizarre apparitions my mind conjured, then I regarded the inkwell and pen, crafted so many years ago. After Gypsy’s story, I realized the hand that had guided the quill could have been anyone from poet to murderer. I shook off a chill.
“Hey,” Kirsten called from the kitchen, “who’s the guy in your backyard?”
“What guy?” I ran downstairs to peek out the window. “Oh, that’s Jimbo.” I recognized his butt. “He’s a terrific gardener, and he takes care of Eddie’s landscaping.”
“What’s he doing in your yard?”
“I asked him to put in some flowers. He’s okay. Heather vouched for him, and everyone around here likes him.”
The ringtone of my phone cut into our conversation. I pressed the button. “Hello?”
“Hi.” Heather’s voice.
“What great timing. My sister’s here. Why don’t you pop in for a minute?” To Kirsten I said, “Heather’s on her way over.”
A minute or two later, my neighbor arrived a little winded. She must have run over. I’d no sooner introduced her to my sister when she said, “It’s a woman.”
“Huh?”
Heather and Kirsten swung toward me, my sister with eyebrows raised suggesting she found my friend a bit strange, and Heather, lips pursed, one hand on her hip in her will you listen mode.
“The body is a woman.”
Kirsten jumped in. “The one they found in Salem?”
Heather spun around to focus on my sister. “Right. The news anchor said the skeleton was a young female, and the police suspected homicide. Like, duh? Why else bury her?”
“Right.” Kirsten paused and looked at me. “That means there’s a murderer around here.”
“That’s what I told Dani,” Heather said. “If a killer wanted to attack her, she wouldn’t even have a dog to bark a warning.”
Two annoyed women pivoted toward me.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Don’t forget the body has been in the ground forever. The killer is long gone.”
Heather was on a roll. She flipped her head back and forth between us as she spoke, her ponytail slapping her face with each turn. “There could be any number of reasons why the murderer stopped.” She ticked them off on her fingers.
“One, he might be in jail.”
“Two, he might have moved away or died.”
I held up my hand to stop her. “Before you go any further, think about what you’ve said. Those are all valid scenarios, and I’m inclined to agree with number two. The perpetrator, if still alive, has moved on.
She stared at me. “I’m not finished.”
She held up three fingers and lowered her voice. “Third, maybe he’s still here,” she paused and peered at each of us, “but they haven’t found his latest victims.
Fingers of ice teased my spine, and I sucked in my breath. That grave was only a short drive from here. I sent up a fervent prayer that Heather was wrong.
Chapter Seven
The shopping trip was a huge success. I bought a cute sundress, beige with big mauve-and-green flowers, and a sweet pair of sandals that looked dynamite on my feet. On the way out of the mall, I snagged a pair of outrageous earrings to complete my ensemble. Bags in hand, Heather and I decided to have dinner at Pickering Wharf.
Our seats had a perfect view of the harbor and the expensive boats docked below us. I was fascinated by the constant parade of people around the area.
After a sip of wine, Heather confided in me she was almost tongue-tied at work around Peter. “Even in a conservative suit, he’s sexy and such a nice guy. I can never figure out what to say. At a bar after a few drinks, I have all kinds of courage, but with Peter I’m nervous. The atmosphere there gets on my nerves, too quiet and proper. That’s why I’m pinning my hopes on next Friday at the yacht club. I’ll be in my element.”
After dinner we sauntered along the streets of the wharf, where a cool breeze refreshed us. When we came to a shop that advertised Wiccan jewelry, crystals, and healing stones, Heather insisted we go inside. “I love this place. Awesome stuff, and the prices aren’t bad.”
She zeroed in on the end of the store, leaving me to poke around on my own. Ihe jewelry was a bit different, silver-shaped moons, wings, and pentagrams, and she was right about the prices. Almost a whole wall held bins of stones in all shapes, sizes, and colors.
In the far corner, I spied a dramatic assortment of colorful velvet capes. Next to the vibrant drapes stood a case filled with books on Wicca. I half expected Harry Potter and his crew to pop into the room. I chuckled. Witchcraft might be a big draw in Salem, but I didn’t succumb to the lure of the unknown. To be truthful, seers and fortunetellers made me nervous. I called to Heather to tell her I’d wait for her outside and headed for the door.
I almost bumped into the saleswoman behind me. About my mother’s age, or a little older, she had hints of gray sprinkled through her long, auburn hair. When a flyaway strand escaped, she tucked the stray around her ear and smiled. “May I help you?”
I’d been gaping at the beautiful blue and green triangular stone nestled between her breasts. About two inches wide, the striking pendant hung from a fine silver chain. Embarrassed to be gawking, I said, “Sorry to stare, but your necklace is fabulous.”
“Thank you. It’s my favorite.” With a tilt of her head, she said, “I haven’t seen you in this store before. You must be new to the area. Did you just move here?”
Ooh, that’s weird. I wonder how she guessed I wasn’t a tourist.
“I did. Last week.”
“How nice.” She didn’t say anything more, just peered at me.
I tugged at my earring, shifted my feet, and glanced around the store.
When she did speak, her voice was more amicable, almost neighborly. “We have quite interesting houses around here, teeming with history. Are you in one of the older homes?”
I had no intention of telling this woman anything. My home address was none of her business. Before I could stop them, though, words tumbled from my traitorous mouth. “I live in the old Gale house.”
Her reaction must have been my imagination. Why not? My crazy ideas had been giving me fits since I’d moved here—but I swear her eyes dimmed. She gave a slight nod. “We have a sale on a selection of stones today. I have a wonderful piece you might find appealing.”
When I stepped back, ready to leave, she placed a small rough stone in my hand. “The color is perfect for you.”
I inspected the piece, a bright emerald shade with different hues of green swirled throughout. “What is this?”
“Malachite. You’ll find it’s soothing and has protective qualities.” She touched her chest. “My necklace has the same stone.” Though she held my gaze, her smile didn’t reach her dark, almond-shaped eyes. “It never hurts to be safe.”
I wanted to tell her she couldn’t scare me into buying her merchandise, but she closed my fingers around the gem. “As a welcome to the neighborhood, I’ll give you this small piece, and you steer your friends to my store.” Her smile faded. “Keep this trinket close.”
When Heather asked her a question, she left. The stone I held wasn’t polished smooth like the woman’s necklace, but I liked my little rock. The ragged green surface sparkled. When it warmed my hand, I transferred the gift to my purse and wondered at the strange incident.
Outside again, Heather opened her bag for me to inhale the sweet scent of the candles she’d purchased. She confessed she used them quite often and recounted the healing properties of each one. In the middle of our aromatic lesson, an insistent tickle on the back of my neck made me swing around.
The woman who’d given me the stone stood at the entrance to her store. I was certain she’d been staring at me. We made brief visual contact, and a tremor of unease disturbed me. I looked away and gave my head a shake. I must have sniffed too many candles. I’d imagined her voice in my mind. Take care.
Ridiculous. I gave myself a mental pinch and said to Heather, “She’s weird.”
“Who?”
“The woman in the store.”
Her eyes widened. “She’s a witch.”
I stopped. “Wait a minute." I gulped as I remembered the words in my head. “A real witch?”
Heather laughed. “Of course. This is Salem.I couldn’t help one more peek behind me. The woman was gone, but, try as I might, I couldn’t forget her warning.
~ * ~
Before going to bed that night, I placed the green chunk of malachite under my pillow just in case the stuff worked. The woman—witch—mentioned the word “soothing.” I needed a little bit of that right now.
For whatever reason, I slept well that night and woke refreshed and optimistic. Good thing, because the electrician, Sam, would be there at 9:00 AM.
This time I determined to be in better control of my emotions when he arrived. Right. If anything, I was worse. Hyper aware of the muscles beneath his T-shirt as he walked toward the bedroom, I chattered on about the wonderful plug he’d installed and other foolish minutiae. When he turned around with a raised eyebrow and a grin, I stopped talking.
“Any more problems?” he said.
“No concerns other than this room.”
He proceeded up the staircase to the loft. I took a minute to enjoy the view. He caught me staring and smirked.
My face grew hot. “Okay, I’ll leave you to your work. Yell if you need anything.” I spun around and hurried into the kitchen.
A while later, he popped his head into the living room. “I’ll be in the cellar under your bedroom. The old fuse box is down there. Be back in a bit.”
“In the basement? Where?”
“Come with me, and I’ll show you.” He led the way. “It’s not a very nice place. It’s nasty, like a dark root cellar.”
We moved past the laundry area to the end of the basement. When he opened a door, the stench of dirt and mold engulfed me, and I backpedaled. I had the strangest urge to break and run.
“Here’s the fuse box,” he said and directed his flashlight inside the room for me.
I held my breath and leaned in for a peek.
“Uh, thanks for the information. If you need anything, I’ll be upstairs.” I couldn’t get away from the creepy place fast enough. No wonder Eddie hadn’t mentioned the place on his tour.
Sam spent the next few hours working between the bedroom and the cellar. I ignored the drill’s steady buzz and hoped there wouldn’t be too much damage to the walls.
When my parents arrived. I gave them a quick tour before we settled in the living room. They liked my new digs and presented me with a great housewarming gift—a certificate to a local home goods store.
In the middle of a conversation on the pros and cons of different kitchen appliances, Sam popped his head in. “I’m on my way to lunch. I’ll be back in a about an hour.”
I hadn’t expected the job to be all day. “How much longer will this take?”
“I’m almost done. After I come back, it’ll be a couple of more hours. I should be finished before dinner.”
My father held out his hand. “Charlie Trent, Dani’s father.”
“Excuse me,” I said. “This is Sam Gregory. Sam, my father and my mother, Meg.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said.
The minute he left, my mother, the matchmaker, appeared. “Oh, I like him. Is he married?”
“Mother! He’s here to fix the electricity. I don’t pry into people’s personal lives.” Then I remembered Heather pointing out Trish, the ex of the Gregory Electric’s owner.
