The Witch is in the Details Page 9

  People in Port Argent already thought she was weird. Not only for opening a bookstore in the most depressed town in the region, but for being related to her Aunt Nancy. What did she care what the employees of Papa Murphy’s thought?

  “You know what, I think I will,” Nann said. “And some cookie dough. We could kick back and watch a movie.”

  “As long as it’s not ‘Babe.’”

  “I thought you loved that movie.”

  “Are you kidding? ‘That’ll do, pig?’ After all that work? Bite me, Farmer Hoggett.”

  Nann went to the closet for her sneakers. “We can watch something else. How about ‘Gordy?’”

  “Man, have you got the slaughterhouse on your mind. Were you planning on getting bacon and sausage on that pizza? Hey, how about ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre.’ See how you like movies where you’re threatened with being made into breakfast foods.”

  Nann hadn’t thought of it that way. “We’ll figure something out.” She grabbed her conjure bag, waved her hand, and came up with Cricket’s keys. Before she could open the garage door, Pokey let out a squeal of pain. He clunked to the floor on his side. Nann didn’t even have time to speak before a white-hot pain lanced through her shoulder.

  Chapter 10

  Nann had the reflection charm in her bag. It wasn’t Cindy after her. She knew it must be Brock Miller. The pain subsided enough for her to get outside. Sure enough, Brock stood in the driveway by the porch steps. In one hand, he had a Nann-poppet. In the other, of course, a long hat pin.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you stop me.” Miller took a step forward. “The mill stole everything precious to me. It has to be shut down for good.”

  Nann’s teeth clenched. “Who says I’m stopping you?”

  “False modesty?” Brock’s head angled mockingly. “You wield a Druid’s power. You can’t bear others wielding magical forces.”

  She felt the sponge around her neck grow heavy. It made her bold. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information.”

  “Oh, please. You’ve meddled with us since we arrived. Inserted yourself in the mill demonstration, attended the town hall meeting, interrogated my poor, deluded son, spied on me in my own home.”

  Nann couldn’t argue any of it, except maybe the spying thing. “Your paper mill is none of my business. You’re the one with the poppet of me, Brock.”

  He smiled. “Wondering how I did it?”

  For a moment, Nann did wonder. And then she knew. “You bumped into me at the demonstration. You must’ve snagged a hair off my shoulder or something.”

  Brock’s face stilled. “No. I stole your napkin from the table at Margie’s place where you were spying on me.”

  Oh. “Why did you plant the poppets on Tink?”

  “To draw you in. That woman is a known agitator, opposed to the mill for years. She’s also your friend. Having her incarcerated would distract you, and at the same time force you to play your hand.”

  That sounded idiotic. Nann hadn’t been forced to play her hand until just now. And she was ready. Except—

  “How dare you?”

  Both she and Brock turned to the voice. Cindy strode out of the woods, face dark, hair flying in a breeze that wasn’t blowing. Nann saw yet another poppet of herself in Cindy’s hand. Why was everyone making effigies of her?

  “That mill took everything from me. My wife, my daughters, the toxins we produced killing them. It left my son insane. How many others in this town got poisoned? I now have the power, the leverage, to finally bury the damned thing.”

  “Took everything? It gave everything to you. Money, cars, power. You’re just an employee, Miller. My family built that mill. It’s in my blood. It will run again, a clean, green papermill that will exonerate the Paine’s good name.”

  Miller laughed. “After all the poison we dumped on this land? You’re two generations too late to clear your family’s reputation, Cynthia. Your father knew how badly we damaged this place. Why do you think he cleared out, and made sure his children were born far from Amity Corners? Teratogens in the water, in the soil, making monsters of my children.”

  “Talk about monsters,” Cindy moved closer to Brock. “You killed Joe so that you could control the vote.”

  Brock threw up his hands. “Oh, I’m the monster? You killed your own father. Not that I blame you. Roger was weak, so worried about his public image.”

  “What are you talking about? We had that covered. For once, he could be a hero, to this town, to environmentalists, a model for other businessmen to follow. He hated the mill, yes, but it was built by his own flesh and blood, to be passed on to his own flesh and blood.” Cindy roughly shoved the Nann doll in her coat pocket. Thankfully, Nann didn’t feel that.

  She did feel the sponge amulet grow so heavy that the twine cut into her neck. Very heavy-duty magic was about to go down. Nann focused on Brock. That was the wrong one to focus on. Before she knew it, Cindy yanked another poppet from her pocket. Dark hair, flask in hand, dark suit—Brock. In her other hand was a lighter. She lit the doll on fire.

  Brock flailed his hands, some kind of counter-attack, the thought. But Nann’s sponge had already absorbed his magic. His suit caught fire. Miller rolled on the ground, screaming. In a moment, he fell silent.

  Cindy turned on Nann.

  “Brock was an idiot, but he was right about one thing. I can’t let you interfere in this, Nann. I like you. I really do. But I have to save my family, my family’s business. We have to protect our own—surely you understand.”

  What Nann understood was that Cindy still had the lighter in one hand. She withdrew Nann’s likeness from her pocket again.

  Nann reacted, gripping the sponge, squeezing it. Brock’s power, his final defensive spell, blew Cindy off her feet. The woman quickly rose to her knees, bringing poppet and flame to bare.

  “I’m sorry! I’m truly sorry!” But not sorry enough. She flicked the lighter and held it to the fabric of the doll. “I’m sorry,” she said over and over. And then her words became a scream.

  The mirror charm in Nann’s bag went off like a gunshot. At once, Cindy was engulfed in flame. Hardly a second passed before both she and Brock Miller vanished in a blaze of light.

  NANN’S HANDS WERE STILL shaking the next day. Even though she was okay and Pokey was okay. Still, the murderous madness of the board members left her freaked out. What was that all about? Why did they think she was a threat. Of course, in the end, she turned out to be. But Nann had no intentions of doing anything to Brock or Cindy, to the mill, or Nationwide Paper. She was only out to defend herself.

  Greenpoint Books carried the local papers, as a courtesy. She looked over the headline again. Murder-Suicide Over Mill Decision. Holy schmoly, Nann didn’t know what to think of it all.

  It was hard to focus on work after the nutzo weekend she’d had. Still, there were online orders to mail. She tried to get them packed before the mailman arrived. There were also stinky packages in Cricket’s cargo bed. Yet as she completed her task, a different visitor walked in. Deputy Keith Schwenk.

  “You’ve seen the papers,” he said.

  Nann nodded. “Crazy.”

  “Funny thing is, Miller had Cindy’s suicide note, and Cindy had Brock’s. Both contained confessions to murder. I think there’s a lot more to it than that.”

  Nann knew there was a lot more to it than that. Their bodies had been found in their respective hotel rooms. No reported sign of fire. No actual sign of anything, other than the fact that both were dead.

  She tried to pull it together, despite her shock. “Well, Brock was corporate secretary. Maybe he gained access to medical records. And remember Cindy said that her father had no heart issues even before the cause of death was determined to be his congenital heart defect.”

  “So, you’re still sticking with that theory?”

  Nann didn’t have anything better. “Not the case?”

  “We looked into it. It seems that Brock Miller was hoar
ding several in-house memos. They were written before his time as corporate secretary. They’re pretty damning to Nationwide. The memos say the company knew the chemicals they were dumping caused all sorts of health horrors. They did their best to cover it up, until the EPA finally stepped in.”

  Although she knew the answer, she asked, “Why would that be a motive?”

  “Brock Miller lost a wife to cancer, connected to the toxins that were dumped. His two daughters were born with severe birth defects, also tied to the mill’s pollution. He has a son, still living. We interviewed him. The guy is batshit crazy.” Schwenk shrugged. “Related to toxins from the papermill? We don’t know.”

  “So what’s your theory? Brock Miller was out for revenge?”

  Keith pursed his lips for a moment. “That may be part of it. We’re still investigating. Still, the voodoo dolls. What’s your take on that?”

  “Why ask me?”

  Schwenk sighed. “You are aware that people think you’re tied up in magic, Nann. Your Aunt Nancy for sure. She had a lot of weird friends, and there were rumors of very weird parties. Naked old people dancing, secret ceremonies, bonfires visible from space, I could go on.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “That’s why I’m asking. You know a little about magic and curses and stuff. What’s your take?”

  “I think Brock and Cindy had a voodoo doll battle, and they killed each other.”

  Keith Schwenk nodded for a moment. “Uh-huh. That’s why you should leave investigation to the professionals, Nann.”

  Sometimes the truth was even better than making people think something normal had happened. Now, Keith would think of her as a kook. Hopefully not too much.

  “There isn’t anything about the mill decision in the paper,” Nann said. “What’s going on with that?”

  “No clue. I’m sure the board members have wills. Their stock would get inherited. I don’t know how it all works, but I’m guessing Sam Laden is in charge now. Can he make the decision? I really don’t know.”

  That wasn’t satisfying at all. “What about the three-by-five cards from Roger’s speech? Did you turn those up? I’m sure they have Roger’s decision about the employee buy-out.”

  “Nope, we haven’t yet.” Schwenk’s mouth made a moue. “I’m not even sure it matters anymore.”

  NANN READ THE ARTICLE again. There was no word on the cause of death, but a source “close to the investigation” opined it was likely poison. The story recapped the reason for the board’s visit, the deaths of four out of five of them. Sam Laden was the sole survivor. He could not be reached for comment.

  Above the story was a photograph of the board members smiling outside town hall before the meeting. It was beyond crazy that four of them were dead. Nann knew all of them were murder, had even witnessed two of them murdering each other. All this over a papermill that had been closed for decades?

  Something about the photo niggled at her unconsciousness. It moved beneath the surface of her thoughts, the way the eddy had moved beneath the green algae matt at the cove. She continued to stare. Nothing came to her.

  When the mailman arrived, Nann managed to talk him into taking Sorcerer of the Swamp BJ Miller’s odorous packages as well as her own. Cricket rolled her windows down, airing herself out. Nann didn’t blame her.

  Zinnia came out of the gallery when she saw Nann on the street.

  “Why the long face?” Nann asked.

  After a long, full sigh, Zinnia looked at the sidewalk. “It’s starting to look like we aren’t going to buy out the mill.”

  “Really? I’m guessing Sam Laden is in charge, and he seemed all for it.” Nann gave her a light back-hand to the shoulder. “Come on, even if the plant doesn’t re-open, you still own a lot of stock in a successful company. Maybe the guys around here should’ve found other jobs years ago. This isn’t on you, anyway, Zinn. You did everything you could.”

  “It’s not just that.” Zinnia turned wet blue eyes up at Nann. “I brought these people here. And they’re dying, maybe killing each other. I feel so guilty.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. These people—you know, I don’t know what to think of these people. But I’m sure this didn’t all come out of the blue. There’s gotta be some history we don’t know, may never know. Obviously, you don’t learn dangerous black magic overnight.”

  “Why not? I started turning into an alligator on the full moon out of the blue.”

  Nann tilted her head and gave Zinnia the eye.

  Zinnia looked away. “Okay, there was a lot of drinking involved. It was spring break. I guess I just don’t remember.”

  “We still don’t know how this will turn out,” Nann said. “Maybe the mill will sell to the workers. It would sure put a lot of this mess off the front page.”

  Zinnia smiled a little. “We’ll have to see. In the meanwhile, I’m setting up for an exhibit of local painters.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  Of course Nann knew. Zinnia folded her hands so tight they turned white. Her face looked ready to pop. “Me! I’m one of the local painters.”

  “I’ll be there. When does it open?”

  “Not until Friday night. I’m still going to have to stay late all week to get everything in order. I sent press releases to the newspapers. They’re sending a reporter and an art critic. I just gotta—squee!”

  “Squee away, Zinn.” She gave her another gentle backhand. “About time you stopped hiding your light under a bushel.”

  Scowling thoughtfully, Zinnia said, “is that what that means?”

  “Let your light shine, Zinn.”

  “That makes sense. I finally get that saying. Who said it?”

  “Jesus,” Nann said. “Sermon on the mount, from the Tyndale translation.”

  “You don’t strike me as Bible-quoter, Nann.”

  Nann shrugged. “More than five billion sold. Good to know your best-sellers.”

  Chapter 11

  In the empty bookstore, bored, her mind returned to mystical merlinite. She’d seen it worn by the late Brock Miller and Cindy Paine, and the surviving Sam Laden as well. Nann recognized it as a crystal useful in magic, but hit the occult section looking for specifics. In a book, Magic Crystals and You, she found a list of geologic and chemical components of the stone. Stifling a yawn, she replaced the book on the shelf.

  Her eyes landed on the spine of Mystic Self Defense a shelf away. Cindy purchased a cheaper copy before...

  Nann slipped it off the shelf. Holding it spine-down, she let the book drop open.

  In the middle of the “Self Defense with Crystals” section, she found mystic merlinite. This reading was more interesting. The crystals were used by New Age and Modern Sorcery types to bridge the dark and light aspects of a person, and also to increase their natural psychic abilities. It was mostly mined in Madagascar. Nann had always wanted to visit Madagascar. See some really weird insects, maybe a tribe of lemurs. Tribe? Troop of monkeys, murder of crows. What did you call a group of lemurs?

  It came to her. A conspiracy of lemurs. Yes, she would visit Madagascar and see a conspiracy of lemurs, maybe even ringtail lemurs. Ringtail. Ring.

  Ring...

  Nann shook her head. She had been falling into a trance. But why? It wasn’t something she normally did. At the top of the opposite page, a fragment of a paragraph caught her eye. She flipped back a couple pages.

  She read over an interesting bit about Modern Sorcery. Crystals and healing stones were a big part of the underground movement. Some Sorcerer Galères identified themselves with a specific crystal. Nann frowned. She’d noticed at least three of the board members wearing the same stone, but this information came a little late. Certainly, both Miller and Cindy Paine were magic wielders. Did this mean that Sam Laden, with that big stone ring

  Ring...

  Ring...

  Again, she did the head-shake. What was wrong with her? Maybe it was because she was attacked by poppet-wilding Modern Sorcerers on her front p
orch. She was stressed, shocked, traumatized. Nann put the book back. She still owed Pokey a pizza and a not-slaughterhouse-related movie night. She could just shut off the radio so she didn’t have to listen to him, and have a regular snuggly pet for the evening.

  She took the paper from the check-out desk and put it in the rack for the delivery guy to take in the morning. The photo jumped out at her. Her dream of a magician doing card tricks jumped into her head. Man, something was sure trying to leap out of her subconscious.

  “What?” she asked the newspaper. “What am I looking at? What am I not seeing?”

  Sometimes, talking to her subconscious helped reveal whatever she was thinking below the surface. Not this time. Out the store’s tall windows, she saw the rainbow hues of sunset. Time to pick up a take-and-bake pizza and relax for the night. Chocolate would fit the bill as well.

  Nann locked up. She saw a few low lights in Zinnia’s gallery. Tim’s tattoo shop was closed on Mondays. As per usual, there was no traffic on Cemetery Street. Making a gesture over her conjure bag, she fished out the store keys.

  Two things happened. First, Cricket’s car alarm went off, the full pew-pew, rank-rank, wee-doo, wee-doo, whooop-whooop, honk-honk-honk. But as she whirled to see what was going on, her vision was blocked. A hand darted in front of her face. She saw a glove, a ring, and then she was gripped tight from behind.

  Greenpoint, Brooklyn, was not the most dangerous place in the world. Still, it was centrally located in the Five Burroughs. Nann had grown up there and as an adult, usually worked alone. Given that, she’d taken a few self-defense classes and a couple refresher courses (because she’d met this guy who was an instructor, and he was smokin hot) and even before her mind could swivel far beyond control, she planted her heel hard on her attacker’s instep, swiveled an elbow into a set of ribs, and bit down hard on the cloying hand.

  Screeching, her attacker fell back.