The Witch's Key (19 page)

“Well, it so happens,” I said, “that last night,
before you guys came by to pick me up for our jungle recon, Lilith
came to me with a puzzle of sorts. It involved a handful of dried
beans, which she wanted me to use for a scrying exercise. She hid
an object in the house that she wanted me to find by spilling the
beans out onto the table and
reading
its location from the
pattern.”

“I don’t understand,” said Carlos. “That’s typical
witch stuff for a witch, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you didn’t let me tell you what it was she
wanted me to find.”

Spinelli jumped to it. “Don’t tell me. A locket with
hair?”

I nodded as the churning in my stomach ratcheted a
nervous pull across my lip. It was not a smile, but it was as close
as I could get to one.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Carlos cried. “How do you
know it was a locket of hair?”

“She told me. She showed me a sample of hair and said
that she hid the rest somewhere in the apartment for me to
find.”

Spinelli flopped down into a chair and propped his
feet up on Carlos’ desk. “I guess she made it easy for you,
then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she had to know that you would investigate
this latest suicide. When you couldn’t find the locket in the
apartment, she brought it to you at work, knowing you couldn’t miss
it.”

“No,” I said. “It doesn’t make sense. Why would she
want me to find a locket of her hair at a murder scene?”

“Maybe she wants to get caught.”

Carlos laughed at that. “Maybe she wants you to spank
her.”

I laughed back. “Maybe I should tell her you said
that.”

“No!” His face grew flush. “You wouldn’t.”

I let him stew. “Dominic. Do we still have Lilith’s
DNA on file from the Surgeon Stalker case?”

“Sure, we have some from everyone involved.”

“Good. Run it against the sample from the locket. See
if you get a match. Carlos?”

“Yes?”

“Do a background check on the victims. See if any of
them have ties to one another or to Lilith. Remember that Lilith’s
lineage goes back a ways, so dig deep. Also, see what you can find
out about Anthony Marcella Sr. And when you’re done with that…” I
hesitated, almost changing my mind about asking him to check out my
next request. But a stone, no matter how small, should never go
unturned. “When you’re done with that, will you see if you can
track down any information at all on Jersey Jake. See if the guy is
still alive somewhere. Like it or not, he’s as much a part of this
mystery as anyone. Try to find out his real name, maybe a next of
kin or something. Check all the arrest records for the summer and
fall of 41. We know that he, Marcella and Gypsy were all in town
when Gypsy got pregnant. Maybe there’s a mug shot of a vagrant
using Jersey Jake as an alias.”

Carlos straightened his back and snapped me a salute.
“Got it, Capitán. In the meantime, what will you do?”

“First light, I’m going to Gitana Freight Lines
headquarters to do some snooping around.”

“You know where it is?”

“Yeah, out in Quincy, barely an hour’s drive.”

“Want some company?”

I shook my head. “No, thanks. I think I’ll use the
ride for some quiet time to think. Let me know if you find
anything.”

I suppose it’s the detective in me that drives my
suspicious mind. What possesses me to act on that suspicion is
something else all together. Probably the compulsive need for me to
know what others wish me not to. I guess it was that unhealthy
motivation that compelled me to search Lilith’s room when I got
home that night. I had always been good at trusting my instincts,
but since my return to prime, I found that my instincts were far
less reliable and therefore less trustworthy. Though I really
expected to find nothing of earth-shattering consequences in her
room, I hoped that by just searching it, I might pacify the
mistrusting beast within me.

I started my search as methodically as possible,
starting on the left as I stood at the bedroom door and working
clockwise. The first thing I scrutinized was her dresser. It’s the
one she had me sliding back and forth across the room like a hockey
puck while holding me under her whisper box spell. The dresser
consisted of three large drawers below two smaller top drawers. I
opened the top left one first. In it, I found her lacy undies and
bras—very sexy stuff. At the risk of overlooking some crucial
evidence, I resisted the urge to pick them up for closer
examination. A detective with fewer scruples, perhaps, would have
bent to a weaker will, but I refused to stoop that low. Instead, I
merely reached my hand in the drawer and felt around for anything
unusual, like a bone sculpture maybe, or a vintage locket. Finding
nothing of interest, or should I say, nothing of importance, I
moved on.

The next drawer held more of the same. Lacy panties,
bras and stockings. I patted down the silky pile of garments and
then ran my hands below them, feeling only the soft velvety fabric
brushing against the backs of my hands like fluffy down. It made me
think of things I should not have been thinking, which only added
to the guilt I felt for invading Lilith’s privacy to begin with.
So, I quickly slammed the drawer shut and moved down to the big
drawer below it. To my utter amazement, I found yet another drawer
full of the hottest, sexiest, frilliest undergarments that I had
ever seen in my life. Victoria Secret could hardly hold a candle to
the collection that girl owned. The thought of reaching into the
drawer to feel around for evidence gave way momentarily to a
fantasy daydream, one with me climbing into the drawer like a
burrowing rodent and rolling around until the lacy straps and
spaghetti strings had me tied up tight as a witch’s…. Well, you get
the picture.

I frisked lightly through the contents before
dropping down to the next two drawers. Those, at least, held a more
traditional assortment of clothing: blue jeans, blouses, sweaters,
vests, etc. A similar frisk through the inventory revealed nothing
of concern.

After debriefing Lilith’s dresser, I turned my
attention to her closet and the apparent mugging in progress there,
as she seemed obviously less organized about her affairs in that
manner. Coats prescribed for winter mingled brazenly among jackets
suitable for spring. Tank tops and sleeveless jerseys hung like
bookmarks between see-through nightgowns and heavy sweatshirts. A
terrycloth bathrobe, of which I had never seen her wear, draped the
back of a hanger already occupied by a formal dressing gown. My
inclination to tell them to break it up nearly forced me to take
out my weapon.

The closet floor proved no better. Shoes, dozens of
them, fell scattered like bones on a dry lakebed. In the corner, a
coiled bundle of belts lay tangled like snakes in some bizarre
mating ritual where heads and tails remained indistinguishable. I
poked my foot at a pile of dirty clothes and gasped when I thought
I heard a muffled cry escape from below it. The shelf above the
hanging rod sagged with boxes of varying sizes, the largest of
which I thought could hold the remains of Jimmy Hoffa. I reached
up, pulled it down from the shelf and looked inside. There, I found
the smoking gun: several pairs of pants, shirts, shoes, hats and
gloves, all black and all smelling of campfire smoke and axle
grease. My heart nearly skipped a measured beat. I considered the
likelihood that a woman, especially a witch, like Lilith would own
an assortment of jet-black clothing. It was not hard to believe. A
pretty lady dressed in black jeans, shirt, boots and hat can look
mighty sexy. And the fact that Lilith
hid
the clothing in a
box on the top shelf of her closet didn’t really bother me, either.
She’s an odd cookie with peculiar habits. I have learned not to
question her nuances. What I couldn’t wrap my mind around, however,
and what no amount of explaining could justify, was what she was
doing with a tin of camouflage makeup and seven witch’s keys,
identical to the one that Carlos and I found by the tracks where
poor old J.T. caught out.

I began rummaging through the box for more
incriminating evidence, when I thought I heard a sound at the front
door. So, I snatched up one of the witch’s keys, stuffed it in my
pocket and quickly returned the box to the top shelf. As I started
out of the room, I noticed I had left one of the dresser drawers
slightly ajar. I knew that Lilith was no neat freak, but she was
particular about things like that. Putting lids back on jars, box
tops back on boxes and keeping doors and drawers shut seemed like a
witch’s creed with her. I suppose when one dabbles in paranormal
activities, then one needs to make sure that boundaries and
containment fields are observed. Perhaps it’s the Pandora effect. I
do not know. Regardless, I hurried to the dresser and pushed the
offending drawer shut with a gentle nudge.

I turned around, thinking I was in the clear, when I
heard, “Find everything okay?”

A fist-sized lump slid down my throat like a sandy
slug. “Lilith?”

She stood at the doorway in her signature stance, hip
out, arms folder, head cocked and toe tapping.” What are you doing
in my room?”

I fumbled for words, my posture shrinking like
melting ice. “Nothing,” I said, only, it came out broken and
squeaky.

Her eyes zeroed in on my pants pocket. “What have you
got there?”

I gave her the classic,
what are you talking
about
, look, convinced there was no way she knew that I had the
witch’s key on my person. As small as it was, its shape could not
possibly telegraph through the relatively baggy material of my
pants pockets. So, I called her bluff by turning my empty palms up
to her. “What?”

She uncrossed her arms and pointed. “In your pocket.
What is that?”

I stepped back until my butt hit the dresser,
preventing further retreat. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

She came toward me, and I thought we might end up
tangled in a brawl as matted as the collection of belts in her
closet. Before I could react, she reached down and snatched away a
small dog-eared piece of fabric sticking out of my pocket. She
recoiled like a cobra, holding up the material and unfolding it
before my eyes. “My panties!” she said, and I have to admit, I was
as surprised as she was. “You little perv! You came in here to
swipe my panties?”

I had not, of course, and I don’t know how the hell
they got in my pocket. I swear, but I knew an out when I saw one,
and so I rode that bus all the way to the station. I dropped the
surprised look and adopted one of guilt, complete with slumped
shoulders and shame-filled eyes. “Yes, you caught me,” I said,
woefully. “I’m sorry.”

She wadded up the panties and stuffed them into her
back pocket. “Why, Tony? Are you that sexually frustrated?”

“What! No!” I said, in high dudgeon. Although, I have
to admit that it’s difficult acting indignant, having just been
caught swiping lady’s panties from a dresser drawer. “I’m not
sexually frustrated. Your panties mean nothing to me.”

“Oh?” She returned to her signature stance, the one
with the thrusting hip, the folded arms and the toe tapping. “Then
how do you explain yourself? And it better be good.”

“It will be,” I said, but then quickly corrected
myself. “I mean, it is.” I walked over to her bed and sat down on
the edge, pouting, if you can believe it, for maximum effect. “It’s
the guys,” I told her. They’ve been ribbing me lately, teasing me
about not…you know, doing it with you.”

Already, Lilith’s posture began to soften. She
dropped her folded arms, tucked her fingers into the slits of her
pants pockets and leaned back against the doorjamb. “Carlos and
Spinelli were teasing you?”

“Yes. Spinelli started it, but you know Carlos. The
two of them together are like schoolboys. Once they know they have
hit a nerve, they don’t let up. They keep teasing until they break
you. I guess I just wanted to show them that I…that we….” I trailed
off in solemn silence, designed to maximize my pathetic case. She
totally bought it.

“Oh, Tony.” She crossed the room and sat down beside
me on the bed. “I had no idea. Look, why don’t you take these?” She
leaned into me, shifting her weight onto one back pocket while
pulling the wadded ball of panties from the other. “Tell the guys
it’s a trophy, and that they can stop teasing you now.”

I took them, reluctantly. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, and then kissed me on the cheek.
“I know how guys are. Go ahead. Play it up. You deserve it.”

I smiled back. “Thanks, Lilith. I won’t forget
this.”

“I know you won’t.” And she stood and rubbed the top
of my head briskly. “Now, get the hell out of my room and don’t
come back. If you do, I’ll turn you into—.”

“I know, a frog or a toad or some other slippery
amphibious vertebrate.” I laughed then, but when I saw that she was
not kidding, I high-tailed out of there as fast as I could.

A half-hour later I hopped into the shower. When I
got out, Lilith was gone again. I could not know if she had stepped
out for just a moment, or if she planned on being away all night.
Either way, and at the risk of being turned into a newt, I went
back into her room to check the box on her shelf. As suspected, it
was missing a pair of black jeans, a black shirt, hat, gloves and a
tin of camouflage makeup. I did not want to believe it, but I had
to conclude one thing. Gypsy was on the prowl again.

The following morning I bumped into Lilith out in the
hallway. She had just gotten out of the shower and was heading for
her bedroom wrapped in a towel and still dripping wet. She seemed
surprised to see me, which made me think she had tried getting back
to her room before I awoke.