The Witch is in the Details Read online

  Nann took a mental step back. “So you haven’t found his speech notes?”

  The deputy gave her an eyebrow shrug. “Kind of embarrassing.”

  “Well, then, back to your question. Nope. No one has purchased books or anything else related to sympathetic poppets,” Nann said. “Or voodoo dolls.”

  “IT’S ALL WRAPPED UP in politics.” Zinnia sat next to Tink, eating a double cheeseburger. Margie’s, the only game in town as far as restaurants went, had lost most of its drunken brawls in the light of the mill’s possible reopening. Nann wouldn’t admit it, but she kind of missed the free entertainment.

  Tink dug into her three slices of cheesecake. “Wrapped up is right.”

  “How so?” Nann said.

  “Well, you own that house, so you know how crazy the school tax is around here. Even if Port Argent only has two elementary schools and a middle school. There’s only one elementary school here in Calamity Corners. Still, it’s a buttload of money every year. Thankfully, I rent.”

  “So what if the property tax is high?” Nann had a chicken Caesar salad, the chicken fried.

  “Those bastards don’t pay a thing as long as they employ the people of Amity Corners,” Tink said. “Not a dime. And they own a swath. Think about how long it takes to walk from Cemetery Street to the actual mill. That, plus those pollution mountains, land halfway up the bluff, and west all the way to Port Argent.”

  “That’s why the buy-back committee did that whole demonstration, all the machine work, everything, as volunteers. Since Nationwide hasn’t employed anyone all year, it puts the pressure on. Right now, the mill isn’t producing. It turns into a double whammy. No income, a lot more outgo. Makes the investors cranky.”

  Tink bobbed a fork at Zinnia. “See, that’s another reason to hate that board. They’ll bring in employees to do a clean-up before an inspection or do some maintenance on the building. They bring a fraction of the workers back for a few weeks, maybe a couple months, and they’re off the hook for the property tax bill. That’s why it’s in limbo.”

  “I have to agree with that assessment. Although hate is a pretty strong word, Tink.”

  Nann shook her head. “Isn’t this whole thing a done deal? You’re on the buy-back committee, Zinn.”

  “We gave it our best shot. Our numbers are good. Maybe low, considering the tons and tons of paper we used to mill. But profitable all the same.” Zinnia forked a fry.

  “It’s the politics again,” Tink said. “Nationwide hates the mill. Even if it was their first one. There’s the tax deal, but there’s also a lot of animosity. All the pollution they’ve left here, probable contamination of the lake, the press lets them have it all the time. Once in a while, Amity Corners gets on the national news, shots of a town left devastated by the retreat of the one big employer, the former flagship mill of Nationwide Paper, blah-blah-blah. The union gets into it, making the company look like what they are—villains.”

  Zinnia smirked. “They’re only villains when the mill is shut down.”

  “Oh, hardly. You want to eat anything grown on the mill’s property? You wanna take a swim in Ten Mile Creek? You wanna raise a family anywhere within the range of those big smokestacks?”

  “I’m not in denial, okay? They’ve done some really terrible stuff. But when I was a kid, this was such a great place. People had money. They drove nice cars. You could eat at a restaurant with decent fries.” Zinnia gave the limp French fry on the end of her fork a sad look.

  “You don’t like it, don’t order it!” Margie shouted from behind the bar.

  Zinnia huddled close. “How can she hear me from all the way over there?”

  “I don’t think she did,” Nann said. “I think it’s something she shouts all the time.”

  “Service with an attitude,” Tink said.

  “Thing is, we gave Nationwide an out. They could be the good guys for a change. Look at us, we’ve got a green mill, we’re cleaning up our act, we employ people in Upstate New York.” Zinnia did a strange little sitting down dance. “But, bottom line, is it worth it to them?”

  Chapter 5

  Nann didn’t know what to think. While she was sure magic had been used to murder Roger Paine, because she didn’t know who would benefit from his death, no particular suspect came to mind. She’d been sitting up front when the poor guy croaked. Perhaps if she’d kept her seat in the back, she would have had an angle on the crowd that gathered to help him. One of whom obviously snatched up the cards with his speech. One of whom knew which way his decision would fall.

  That didn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t the evil developers. They were still foremost on her suspect list. It just seemed more likely that Roger Paine would have shared his decision with someone on the board, someone close to him.

  Given her thoughts, the appearance of Cindy Paine rattled Nann. The woman dressed in black, looking lost in the bookstore. Nann left the check-out desk.

  “Honey, I’m so sorry. How are you doing?”

  Cindy, red-eyed and pale, managed. “Awful.”

  Nann steered her to the psychology section and books on loss and grief. She didn’t try to sell Cindy on anything, just let her look.

  “The sheriff says we can’t leave town until the investigation is over,” Cindy said. “I don’t know anyone here. Except you.”

  “You’re welcome to hang out with me. It gets pretty boring in here.”

  She cut her eyes to Nann. “Not a lot of customers?”

  “Well, I had a guy in here this morning. He came in looking for mushrooms. I told him this was a bookstore. He asked if we had ice in the cooler.”

  Cindy cracked a smile.

  “Poor guy. He kept looking around, trying to find something to shoplift. All he found were books. At least the meth business is booming around here.”

  “That’s terrible!” Cindy said, but still, she laughed.

  “You wanna sit? The couches are ugly, but at least they’re uncomfortable.”

  “It’s kinda strange,” Cindy sat. “All the board members are from here. They have old friends, old hangouts. I was born and raised in Louisiana. I don’t know a soul. My great-grandfather built that mill. I mean, from the ground up, from nothing. This was all just woods back then. I imagine it was beautiful, wild.”

  “It’s still beautiful and wild. You should see my place. It’s up on the bluff over Port Argent.”

  “I’d like that.” Cindy’s features clouded. “I just wish... I wish it could all be like that again. I really love the green business plan.”

  “Did your dad?”

  She shrugged. “Hard to say. I mean, the people here, the workers, boy are they pissed off. I don’t blame them. My father, the board, they have this sentimental attachment, but they’re businessmen. Like they can’t live with what the mill did to this area, yet they still can’t shut it down, either. Dad—he fished on the lake, hunted in the woods, graduated high school here when there was a high school, really built this mill into a national concern. It really hurt him when the workers turned against him. My whole life, he’s fought with it. Had fought with it.”

  Nann gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Maybe he wanted to turn it around. Be the good guy.”

  “He isn’t, wasn’t one for making himself look good at the cost of good business. We have other mills, profitable ones, other employees, many, many of them, and shareholders. He had to answer to them, and if he had to wear the black hat, then so be it.”

  “But you don’t wanna wear the black hat.”

  “It’s completely possible to run a profitable company that isn’t a loss to the environment. Of course, you can make a lot more money by being an irresponsible steward of the land. We sure proved that over the years. But how much more money do we need? How much more do we need to grow? It wasn’t a philosophy Dad believed in, however.”

  “So you think it was a no-go on the buy-back?”

  Cindy laughed, but it had no humor to it. “Hell, I never knew what he was thin
king. He sure wasn’t sharing his thoughts with his hippy daughter.”

  “Hippy my ass. You didn’t get that St. Johns Collection suit or those Gianvito Rossi boots at the Salvation Army store.” Nann gave her a backhand swat to the shoulder. Then she sat back, noticing Cindy’s earrings. They were small and tasteful danglers, spheres of blue stone marked with tiny snowflake shapes.

  “Fine!” Cindy had to smile. Her change in mood derailed Nann’s train of thought. “I’m a spoiled rich girl with environmentally conscious leanings. But, seriously, there’s a new world coming. Either that, or no world at all. Dad knew that. I just hope it turns out that he embraced the idea.”

  Nann remembered the argument she’d witnessed. “What about Sam Laden? Did he embrace the idea?”

  “Sam’s idea of a green company is a company that makes money.”

  NANN CLOSED FOR THE day, thinking. Maybe Roger didn’t let Cindy in on his plan, but he must have let another board member in on it. Cindy said the board members were from here, had hangouts and friends. She couldn’t imagine them hanging out at Margie’s. So where would they hang out? Brock Miller liked a drink. There was a pretty tony fern bar in Port Argent. Maybe she’d find Miller there. Cricket took her on the roundabout road to the neighboring town.

  The place had no sign outside, and stood next to a former farmhouse, now a B&B. Inside was dark, well appointed with wood and leather, frond-fans twirled overhead. Nann decided to give the place a test run. She bellied up to the bar.

  “What’ll it be?” The bartender’s shirt was crisp, his apron unstained, his thinning hair craftily combed over.

  “Harvey Wallbanger.”

  When the man didn’t bat an eyelash, she knew two things: first, that this was an upscale bar with a trained staff and most likely more expensive than she could afford, and; two, she could’ve ordered a planter’s punch. She preferred a pineapple garnish to an orange wheel. As the bartender assembled the drink, she cast around the place.

  It wasn’t Brock Miller she found, but Sam Laden. He hunched at the end of the bar in shirt sleeves, tie undone. Nann took her drink and slid down a few stools.

  “Place is a frickin Albatross,” he said when he saw her.

  Nann tasted her drink. It was fabulous, but certain to go straight to her brain. “It can’t make money?”

  Laden knocked back an amber beverage, neat. “We managed to build an empire from this first mill. But since the ’70s, it’s been a love-hate relationship. We’re all from here, the board. I started working it summers in high school, then college. Got my MBA and came back to work in management. All our stories are pretty much the same. Except Roger, of course. His family owned the place, built the place. He also took the heat from the EPA, the union, the shareholders.”

  “Would the employee buy-out solve your PR issue?” Nann asked, surprised he would just open up to her.

  Laden ordered another scotch. This time, the bartender did more than bat an eyelash. “You driving, sir?”

  Sam shook his head. “Stumbling to the Farmhouse B&B. Hit me.” He slapped his left hand on the bar. She saw a large Band Aid on the blade of his palm, but her eyes seized on something else. Nann was stunned by the fat stone on his ring finger. It was blue and white with a pattern of what looked like fern fronds. She saw the ring was carved from one solid piece. Mystic merlinite, she thought, also called gabbro indigo. Not an expensive crystal, still it held her eye as if she were being hypnotized. She was sure Cindy’s earrings were made of the same stone.

  It seemed Laden noticed her staring and his hand disappeared beneath the bar. The bartender produced another glass. Sam eyed her drink. “What are you having?”

  “My one and only Harvey Wallbanger of the evening.”

  “You a reporter? Come to pry into our business?”

  “Actually, I’m a bookstore owner, and I expected to find Brock Miller in here.”

  “Ha!” He toasted her. “Hardly been here two days, and you already figured us out. Fine, then, Miss Bookstore Owner. Yes, the buy-out would make Nationwide look a lot better to the public. For years, we considered selling. But we’d have to actually deal with the mountains of sludge-waist, clean out the creek, the lake, demolish the facility. No way to recoup our costs. If we hand it off, that’s one set of problems solved.”

  “You think Roger was leaning that way?”

  He sipped thoughtfully. “Roger always played it close to the vest. The transaction would pose a new set of problems. Do we let the new owners produce for Nationwide without QC or oversight? Who has to deal with the toxic cleanup, us or them? Who would be served with lawsuits over the pollution issues?”

  Even with two sips of her drink, Nann felt overwhelmed. “Well, if you were in charge, what would you do?”

  “Technically, until the shareholders’ meeting in January, I am in charge. CFO, acting CEO and president. If it were up to me, I’d lease the facility, and let the employees take a mortgage on the property.”

  Nann got it. “So you make some money, no matter if they make a profit or not, with the lease. Plus, you stick them with the environmental issues, as the new property owners.”

  He toasted her. “You should get out of the bookstore business and into the business business.”

  “I don’t think I’m ruthless enough.”

  He shrugged, the motion nearly dethroning him from the stool. “Maybe more ruthless would suit the business world. Look at this place. We didn’t know it at the time, but we destroyed it. Such a great place to grow up. Summers in the woods, white Christmases. Used to be a magical place. But Amity Corners is broken, the surrounding land is toxic, and why? So we could make a quick buck. Seems like ruthless has come back to bite us all in the ass.”

  AFTER SAM MANAGED TO meander his way out of the bar and down the street, Nann headed home. Even though she was only slightly tipsy, she gave Cricket the wheel. The car chirped her door alarm in understanding and took off toward the intersection of Bluff Road. Nann left her hands loose on the wheel for appearances’ sake.

  Except when she pulled into her long driveway, the police were already there, waiting. What to tell them, she let her car drive her home? Opening her conjure bag, she concentrated, waved a hand, and came up with a breath mint.

  She saw Keith leaning on a prowler’s hood, and a rail-thin man with a buzz cut pacing the drive. Nann was pretty sure he was the county sheriff. Cricket was a safe driver. Surely no one had called to report her.

  “Nancy Ann Szymanski?” the sheriff turned on his heel.

  Nann slowly got out. “Call me Nann. With two n’s on the end. Nannnn.”

  “Sheriff Jerry Gynther. Had an issue I wanted to clear up. Can we talk inside?”

  Breath mint, do your stuff. She wondered why Keith wouldn’t meet her eye. It wouldn’t look good, hesitating in front of the sheriff. “Of course. C’mon in.”

  Nann rarely used the front door, usually coming in through the garage to the kitchen, or the kitchen back door, the one closest to the road. Had she dusted recently? There was a lot to dust in Founder’s House. As they entered, Pokey trotted up to greet her. Upon seeing law enforcement, he trotted away more quickly. She couldn’t remember if she’d left the radio on. A talking pig would be a tough one to explain away.

  “Is this about Roger Paine?” she asked, mostly to steer away from her potential DUI. At this moment, she felt stone cold sober.

  “Deputy Schwenk asked you if anyone purchased information regarding voodoo dolls.”

  Nann nodded. “He did. No one has.”

  “Roger Paine’s autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow morning. In the meantime, we subpoenaed bank records from the surviving board members. We have both Roger and Cindy making purchases at your store the day before the death.”

  Roger had rented a computer, and Cindy bought a book not about sympathetic magic. “Well, if you have the records, you know they made purchases.”

  “We’d like the specifics, if you would.”

  Nann didn�
��t like this. Even if bank records could be seized so quickly, that didn’t mean she had to tell the cops what people bought in her store. She folded her arms. “Do I need to speak to my lawyer?”

  The cops shot quick eyes at each other. Sheriff Gynther’s eyes hardened. “I hope not. Last I heard, Mr. Greenbaum was golfing in Fiji.”

  “This is a pretty serious matter, Nann.” Keith finally looked at her. “We could get a warrant for your store records. Retail purchases aren’t protected information. We could compel you to testify. But what we’re really looking for is some help. I don’t think there’s another person in town who can.”

  Okay, that sounded heavy. “Neither one of them purchased a book on sympathetic magic. I don’t feel right saying anything more.”

  The sheriff’s cell phone rang. He nodded a go-ahead to Schwenk and wandered the big house to take the call. Keith pulled photos out of his pocket and handed them to Nann. She gawked. All of them were of poppets. She recognized Cindy by her dark hair and nice dress. The Brock Miller doll had too-black hair and a felt flask in hand. Joe Fitzgerald’s effigy had a purple tie she hadn’t consciously registered until just now. It seemed every member of the board was a target, except—

  The sheriff returned. “That was Laden. He sounded intoxicated, but I managed to catch the gist. He got a voodoo doll propped up on his pillow, too.”

  “We’re more interested on how these things are made. It might give us something to go on,” Schwenk said.

  Nann nodded, going through the photos again. The poppets were very well made, highly detailed, recognizable. “They’re made like any stuffed toy. A pattern cut from cloth. It’s hard to be sure, but they look professional, like seamstress professional.”

  Sheriff Gynther took a plastic bag from his coat and traded it for the photos. This was the Cindy doll, in the flesh. Or cloth. Or whatever.