Deadly Harvest (8 page)

“That guy—you're talking about the fortune-teller the police haven't found yet, right? The one who didn't have a permit,” Jeremy said.

“There was something wrong with him. He was…scary,” Brad said. “And Mary…Mary was freaked out by him, too.”

“But nothing actually happened in the tent, did it?” Jeremy asked.

“No. Yes. No.” Brad was frowning, thinking back. He shook his head. “Not physically, but the guy…said things. He said I was weak. That Mary was in danger. And his special effects, the stuff in his crystal ball…it was freaky. I mean, you could see things in that ball as if they were real. It started with a turkey.”

“A turkey?” Jeremy repeated. He looked at Brad's glass. The bourbon was all gone. He wondered just how many his friend had drunk before this one.

“A turkey dinner,” Brad said impatiently. “I could see it as if it were real. It was like I could smell it, too. Almost taste it.”

Jeremy sat silent for a minute. “What did the guy look like?” he asked.

Brad was thoughtful. “Showy—you know, like he was having fun being dramatic for Halloween. He was tall, or maybe it was the cape.”

“Okay, he was wearing a cape. Ethnicity? The color of his eyes? Come on, Brad, you know how to give a description,” Jeremy reminded him.

“He was wearing a cape
and
a turban. Tall, dark and lean. But it was hard to really read his features, because he was wearing makeup. You know, around the eyes—maybe he had darkened his skin, too, I'm not sure. But he was real—lots of people saw him and the tent. The thing is, it's been hard for the cops to track him down, because it was Halloween. The city was full of tourists, and most of them have gone home. Besides, the cops think I'm just grasping at straws, pointing the finger at that guy. Mary didn't even disappear right after we saw him. The thing is, they didn't see what I saw in his tent. They didn't hear the way the man talked. As if he knew us. As if he was threatening us.”

“You have to remember exactly what this guy said,” Jeremy told him.

Brad hung his head. He looked as if he was going to start crying at any minute.

“Look,” Jeremy said firmly, “I'm going to walk you to your hotel, and I'll be back for you at nine tomorrow morning. We're going to retrace every step you took that day. All right?”

Brad nodded, then looked up at Jeremy. “Sure,” he said listlessly.

“Brad, it's important.”

“It won't help.”

“Why not?”

“Because that Damien guy is gone, and no one knows where he is. But he took Mary. I know he did.”

“Brad, did this guy claim to have any special powers? Did he say he was a wiccan or anything?”

Brad shook his head. “Oh, no. He wasn't a wiccan. He told us that right away, when Mary asked.”

“Did he say anything about having a local business? Did he say where he was from? That he belonged to a magicians' union or something?”

Brad solemnly shook his head again. “No. He didn't say anything at all. But I know what he is.” He stopped, his expression grim.

“And what's that?” Jeremy prompted.

“The devil,” Brad said seriously. “He's the devil.”

R
owenna saw Jeremy sitting alone at the bar when she went in and joined him.

“Hey,” she said, sliding onto the stool next to him. She flashed Hugh a smile, and he came over immediately.

“Hey, yourself. Welcome home. The usual?”

“Sure, thanks, Hugh,” she said.

Jeremy was looking at her, a slight smile on his lips, one brow arched. “You know everyone in town?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “I grew up here, remember?” she said. “But no, I don't know everyone. Hugh graduated high school a few years before me. He was on the hockey team.”

“And you were a cheerleader?”

“No,” she told him with a laugh. “But half my friends were.” She grew serious. “Where's Brad?”

“I just walked him home.”

“Oh. How's he doing?”

“Not well.” He turned to look at her. “He's sure that he has the answer, but proving it…Let's just say it won't be easy.”

“Oh? He knows who took Mary?”

“He says the devil did it.”

“You're joking.”

“I'm dead serious. Well, the devil in human form, I guess. He's convinced that the fortune-teller they went to that afternoon did it. Did you learn anything else?” he asked her.

“Hey, I introduced you to Joe. You know what I know.”

“I thought he might have said something else to you.” Jeremy was still watching her, eyes intense. “And hey, if you're worried about being seen with me, I can behave like a casual acquaintance.”

She was surprised by his words, then surprised again when she felt herself blushing. Joe had definitely been hostile when he'd met Jeremy. Why?

Because Jeremy was a private investigator? Or because Joe sensed the chemistry between them?

No. Joe thought she should move on, have a life. He had said so often enough.

But did he really mean it?

“Don't be ridiculous,” she said. She stared at him openly. “I do what I choose to do,” she said softly. “I never let others influence my choices.”

He turned back to face the bar, so she couldn't read his reaction to her words. “Still, people around here will trust you before they trust me,” he said.

“I'm not sure why any of that would matter. A woman is missing. Everyone around here is hoping she'll be found alive and well. Hoping—and praying.”

“Not everyone,” he said.

“Oh, come on! Wiccans are not—”

“I didn't mean wiccans,” he said, staring at her again. “I was referring to the person who took her.”

“Oh,” she said. “Of course.” She had to stop letting her feathers get so easily ruffled.

“Tell me about your friends,” he said.

“Which friends?”

“Adam and Eve.”

“They're very nice people.”

“Wiccans?”

“Yes. So?”

“Just curious.”

“They're nice. I went to school with
them,
too. I've known them both forever. They have a shop where they sell a lot of the usual tourist stuff—and a lot of not-so-usual items. They work with a lot of local artists and jewelers.”

“What about powders and potions? Do they sell those, too?”

“Yes. And tea,” Rowenna said, hearing the edge in her voice.

“Sorry,” he said, and set his glass down. “I guess I should get you home.”

“Sounds good.” She slid off her stool and waited for him.

When Hugh walked over with the check, Rowenna smiled at him. He grinned back. “See you,” he said.

“Yeah, you will. Thanks,” Jeremy told him. He set a hand on Rowenna's waist, guiding her out.

The air outside was beautifully cool. The harsh cold of winter had yet to make an appearance.

The city seemed very quiet. They might have been the only ones out as they walked to Jeremy's rental car.

He pointed to one of the houses they passed on the way.

“My new residence,” he told her.

“Oh? A whole house?” she asked.

“Hey, it's leaf season,” he said. “It was better to rent the house than pay the ridiculous room rate at a hotel. I was just lucky to get the place when someone had to cancel. Did you know that even the locals like to travel to see the foliage?”

“Yes, but they'll be going farther north soon,” she told him. “Vermont, Maine.”

“It's pretty,” he admitted.

“You don't really get the seasons down where you live, do you?”

“Sure. We have killer hot. Just plain hot. Almost cool. And sometimes, in the shade, there's almost a nip in the air.”

She laughed.

“I'm exaggerating,” he told her. “We've actually had snow in the north of the state, and there have even been days when it's been colder in north Florida than in Chicago.”

She thought then, as they moved along the street, that she really loved his smile. She wished that they weren't together only because a woman was missing. And she wondered what would happen when they reached her house.

At the car, he opened the door for her. “Thanks for letting me drive you home,” he said casually.

“It made sense, and since you didn't mind…” she said, hoping her tone was just as breezy.

As they left the town behind, she found herself noticing how much darker things got. The coastline of New England was well-populated, and had been since the Pilgrims came and others followed. But they were moving inland, into farm country, she thought as she pointed out the road signs to Jeremy, so he would know exactly where they were going and how to get back.

“Just how far out are you?” he asked her.

“Now? Twenty minutes. In what we call rush hour? Thirty. Well, on a day like Halloween, more like an hour.”

She didn't live all that far from the city, but the streetlights grew fewer and then stopped altogether when they reached the cornfields. She stared at the stalks, tall, pale sentinels in the night. They stood high, this near the harvest. They swept by in a blur of shadow and darkness with the speed of the car.

She didn't realize how tense she had become until she almost jumped at the sound of Jeremy's voice.

“Do you own much land?”

She shook her head. “No. I just have a few acres. I love the house, though, and the country is pretty. I've always thought I'd like to get a horse one of these days, when I'm not traveling quite so much.”

Shouldn't they have passed the cornfields by now? she wondered. Surely they should have reached her house by now. No, she was just misjudging distance, because the cornfields were spooking her.

She told herself not to be ridiculous. She lived out past the cornfields. She was used to them. This uneasiness was utterly neurotic. She had to stop it. She loved her home, and she couldn't allow herself to become afraid of it because of some stupid nightmare.

“Are you all right?” he asked, glancing her way.

“Fine. Why?” she asked him.

“You look pale.”

“Don't be silly,” she said, hoping her laugh wasn't as shaky as she felt. “It's the light. Or the lack of light.”

They had passed the cornfields at last. Of course, they were still out there. Lurking in the darkness. But there was the old MacElroy place, and next road led to her own home.

“There, take a right,” she told him.

She drew a sharp breath when her house came into view. It was dark. It shouldn't have been. Ginny MacElroy, spinster aunt of the current Dr. MacElroy, always looked after the place when she was gone and left a different light burning every night.

Only the glare from the car's headlights kept the house from being swamped by the night.

“Strange,” she murmured.

“What?”

“Oh, I guess a bulb burned out, that's all,” she said casually.

He looked at her speculatively but didn't say anything.

Rowenna stepped from the car and headed up the walk to the wooden steps to the porch. The house was a total mishmash of architecture, with one room from the 1600s, an addition built in the very late 1700s and a final addition from the 1850s. There was ginger-breading on the balcony across the front of the second floor, and on the wraparound porch at ground level. She kept the house in good repair, aware that even in a place where historic buildings were common, her house and its history were unique and deserved to be cared for.

The steps were old, just like the rest of the place, and creaked when she walked up them. She searched through her large, over-the-shoulder travel handbag, found her key and opened the door, then fumbled for the light switch. She was relieved when the simple iron chandelier in the mudroom came right on.

“Come on in,” she said to Jeremy, who was standing right behind her, carrying her suitcases.

She walked through the mudroom, hitting the lights for the foyer. It wasn't a grand entry by any means, but rather a glorified hall that opened to the oldest section on the left and the newer wing—the section added on in the 1850s—to the right. The stairway ran along the right wall and led to a picture-perfect landing above, complete with cast-iron balustrade. On the second floor she had her bedroom, guest room, office and a room she mostly used for storage. The stairs to the attic were in the storage room, and the attic was filled with all kinds of wonders that she meant to go through at some point.

“Where would you like these?” Jeremy asked, hefting her suitcases. There were two of them, and they were heavy, just missing the cutoff, after which she would have been charged extra by the airline.

“Right there is fine,” she told him quickly.

He set them down, and she watched him as he surveyed the house. He met her eyes and grinned at her. “This is one big place to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere, huh?”

“It's not that big, and I do have neighbors—we passed their place,” she said.

“But you live here—alone—and have for years, right?”

“Yes. I've lived here all my life, really, except for college and a lot of traveling,” she said. “It's good to have somewhere that's home.”

“Do you have an alarm system?”

“No.”

“And no big dog, either.”

She laughed. “I'd love a big dog, but he'd starve to death, since I'm gone half the time.”

“Want me to walk around, check things out?” he asked.

Yes!

She managed a casual shrug. “Sure. If you'd like.”

She walked him through, telling him the architectural history of the place as she did so.

“You've never been afraid out here, huh?” he asked.

“What? Are you trying to scare me?” she asked him.

At least he had the grace to look apologetic. “No, sorry. I'm not trying to scare you. I guess…” He paused, frowning.

“You guess…what?”

“Oddly enough, when I didn't see you in the graveyard, I found that far more frightening than knowing you live out in the boondocks.”

“This is hardly the boondocks,” she protested. And it wasn't. On a quiet night, she could probably scream loud enough for her neighbors to hear her. She was twenty minutes from the city. She wanted to live out in the country, but she didn't want to be
alone
.

“Want some coffee or something before you drive back?” she asked, starting toward the kitchen, which had once been a large pantry, in the rear of the house. She assumed he would follow.

She
hoped
he would follow.

He did.

“Hmm, no milk for the coffee,” she said, rummaging in the refrigerator.

“I don't want coffee,” he told her, then walked over to her, drawing her into his arms and looking down into her eyes. “Do you want me to stay?”

Her heart quickened. She wanted to say yes, and she didn't want to say yes. She didn't want him staying because she was afraid. She wanted him staying because
he
wanted to stay, and she wasn't sure that he would believe her if she said so. But she had to ask.

“Do you want to stay?” she asked seriously.

There was a tenderness in his eyes that seemed to take away all the darkness of the night. Being held by him, feeling the warm, hard strength of his body and his arms around her, seemed so sweet and foreign that she felt a rush of dizziness.

“You know I do,” he said huskily.

“Then I definitely want you to stay,” she whispered in return.

The next hours passed in a glorious haze. In the morning, she would put the memories in order by where she found her clothing. Sweater in the kitchen, one shoe at the foot of the stairs, another halfway up. Shirt at the door to her bedroom, skirt halfway across the room.