Grave Mistake Read online

  Should I put on a kettle in case she wanted a cup of tea?

  Did she even drink tea? I could make coffee, but that didn’t seem nearly as reassuring. Since she was underage, I couldn’t exactly offer her a glass of wine.

  Somehow, I managed to stop dithering long enough to refill the kettle and set it on the stove. Archie, who’d been curled up in the easy chair, opened an eye and shot me an annoyed look.

  “Some of us are trying to sleep, you know.”

  “Then go sleep in your bed in the office,” I said helpfully.

  His lip curled, but he got up, arched his back, and then jumped down from the chair before stalking out of the room.

  Probably just as well.

  The buzzer sounded from downstairs a minute later, and I raced down the steps, not wanting to risk Violet losing her courage and deciding to go back from whence she came. To my relief, she was still on the back step, slim form shrouded in a black cloak with the hood pulled up to conceal her features.

  As a means of disguising herself, I didn’t know how effective the getup was, considering cloaks were in pretty short supply in Globe. But I only said, “Come in, Violet,” then got out of the way so she could step inside. “My apartment is upstairs,” I added, speaking quickly so she wouldn’t get a chance to change her mind about being there. “Come on up.”

  She followed me up the stairwell and then into the apartment. What she thought of it, I couldn’t really tell; she dropped the hood as she looked around, but her face was pale, her eyes wide and tragic.

  The kettle chose that moment to begin whistling, and she startled, her slender form literally jumping an inch or two before she realized where the sound was coming from.

  “Sorry about that,” I said quickly, then hurried into the kitchen to shut off the gas. “I thought you might like a cup of tea. It always helps to calm me down.”

  “Peppermint?” she asked, sounding like a little girl inquiring if she could have another cookie.

  “Absolutely,” I responded in my heartiest tones. I got out a box of Traditional Medicinals peppermint tea and made some for both of us. Frankly, my nerves needed a bit of settling, too.

  A mug in either hand, I went back out to the living room and set them down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Violet took a seat, then reached for one of the mugs and held it between her hands as if she needed it to warm her chilled fingers.

  She looked cold, pale and waif-like. When I’d first spotted her at Lucien’s house months ago, she’d seemed almost arrogantly beautiful, like one of those absurdly young models who turned into a fierce Amazon as soon as she started marching down the catwalk. Now, though, she seemed horribly diminished, someone way out of her depth.

  Well, she wasn’t the only one. I still didn’t know what the heck was going on, but I told myself I had ten years on her, and so I needed to act like the adult in this situation.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked.

  A shake of her head. “No, I’m okay.” She paused, pale lips pressed together. “I mean, I’m not…but I guess I am.”

  I picked apart that bundle of contradictions and determined that she meant she was physically okay. Psychologically, on the other hand….

  I wished I could see her aura, but that particular gift seemed to have deserted me for the moment. Yes, I was used to it coming and going. Still, its timing seemed even crappier than usual.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” I’d asked the same question of Lucien’s spirit earlier that day, but I hoped this time I might actually get an intelligible answer.

  Her fingers clenched more tightly around the mug she held. She lifted it and took a very small sip, wincing a little at the heat. Voice flat, she replied, “I saw Lucien get murdered, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Dear Goddess. I rubbed my damp palms over the knees of my jeans. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s….” The word trailed off, as if she honestly hadn’t known what she intended to say. “I was going to say ‘it’s okay,’ but it’s really not.”

  At a loss, I waited, telling myself that sometimes all you could do was hold off until a person came to the right psychological moment to speak. I’d dealt with this sort of thing in my practice before, although I’d never had a client who’d been traumatized by witnessing a murder. And she was traumatized. If she’d been any paler, she would have looked as though she was ready to pass out, and a tremor went through her as she stared down at her mug of tea.

  Finally, she continued. “We performed the protection ritual at the Airbnb,” she said, speaking distinctly, her tone almost detached. I got the feeling that she was trying to describe Friday night’s events as though they’d happened to someone else, that doing so would make it a little easier for her to tell me what exactly had transpired. “But afterward, Lucien still seemed restless. I told him we should go out to the woods and make love in the moonlight.”

  “That was your idea?” I asked, doing my best to rid my mind of that particular mental image.

  Her lip curled, and she lifted the mug of tea and drank a slightly larger swallow. “Yeah. Does that freak you out or something?”

  “No,” I said calmly. “You’re an adult, after all.”

  Those words seemed to reassure her. She sipped some more tea, then continued. “So, we went out into the woods. It was cold, but we’d brought a couple of blankets with us from the Airbnb. And actually, it was beautiful, with the sound of the river in the background and a gibbous moon overhead.” A little hitch of a breath, and she blinked away the tears that came to her eyes as she recalled one of the final moments she’d shared with Lucien Dumond. “We got dressed and were folding up the blankets, getting ready to go back to the car.”

  She stopped there, pausing so long, I wondered if she’d decided she wasn’t up to this after all and wasn’t going to complete her story. But after she pulled in a ragged little breath, she resumed the tale.

  “All I heard was a rustling in the leaves underfoot. Someone — something — came out of the trees and went straight for Lucien.”

  “Something?” I repeated. “You mean it wasn’t human?” Once again, I experienced a nasty little chill down my spine. Were my earlier suspicions about a nonhuman entity being the true murderer correct?

  “I don’t know what it was,” she said. She leaned over and set the mug of peppermint tea on the coffee table, then crossed her arms and tucked her hands under them, as if trying desperately to get warm. “It was huge — much taller than Lucien. Tall and dark.”

  “Like someone with dark hair and a dark complexion?”

  Violet shook her head. “No…just dark. It was a shape. That’s all. I couldn’t see anything else.” Her teeth caught on her lower lip, small and white and perfect. “I mean, until I saw the knife. It flashed in the moonlight. I saw it go into Lucien’s chest, over and over.”

  “That’s okay,” I said soothingly. “You don’t have to give me any more details. What happened after that?”

  “Lucien sort of staggered over to the river and fell in it. He didn’t move. The — the whatever it was — turned toward me. I screamed and ran.” Tears began to slip from the corners of her eyes. She blinked, then reached up with one hand to wipe them away. “I know I should have stayed to check on Lucien, but I was so scared — ”

  Should I reach over and pat her on the arm? Probably not; she was holding herself rigid, and I had a feeling she wasn’t in the mood to have anyone invade her personal space like that. “It’s fine,” I told her. “No one would have expected you to stay when you were being confronted by a dangerous stranger like that.”

  A faint nod, and she sniffled. “Maybe. Anyway, I ran to the highway. A guy gave me a ride back to Globe, and I got in my car and left.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Athene what had happened?”

  Another sniff. “She wouldn’t have believed me. She hated me.”

  True, Athene had acted as if she didn’t have much use for Violet Clarke, but “hate”
was a pretty strong word. I didn’t bother to rebuke her, though, reminding myself once again that the girl was barely out of high school and had traveled on her own to a strange place where she didn’t know anyone, only to see her lover murdered right in front of her eyes.

  Probably, I should cut her a little slack.

  But while her story had answered a few questions, it left a lot open. She was sipping more of her tea, so I decided to leave the issue of Athene’s feelings for Violet behind and move on to a different piece of the puzzle. “Where did you go? Chief Standingbear told me that a gas station attendant had spotted your car heading east on Highway 70.”

  Violet was silent for a moment. She still gripped the mug like it was the only thing grounding her in this reality. Then her thin shoulders lifted and she said, “I just needed to get away. I was worried that whatever was stalking Lucien and me would track me back to L.A., so I went in the opposite direction. I hadn’t really gotten my stuff out of the car yet, so I had my bags with me. Except I didn’t have a lot of cash, and I knew if I used my debit card, my parents would figure out where I had gone.”

  That explanation seemed logical enough. It made me a little sad, though, thinking of her parents, of how she’d taken off and hadn’t told them where she was going.

  How worried they must be. Or maybe not. If they were that involved in their daughter’s life, wouldn’t they have worked a little harder to keep her away from Lucien Dumond?

  Why Violet had reached out to me, I didn’t know. Maybe it really was that I was the only person in Globe she knew…and that she also knew I was safe because I’d never had any designs on Lucien.

  “You really should call your parents,” I said, but I kept my tone gentle, trying to let her know it was just a suggestion and not something I’d make her do in exchange for my help.

  Her fingers tightened on the mug. “I know. But…can I call them in the morning? I just can’t deal right now.”

  I knew the feeling. “Sure,” I replied. “You can crash on the couch — that’s all I’ve got, since I use the second bedroom as an office.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” she said, expression immediately brightening. Then she added, the words rushed, as though she’d just realized that she should show some kind of gratitude for my offer, “Thanks, Selena. I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s no problem,” I told her, although I had to wonder whether it would turn out to be one.

  But no — she’d crash here, and she’d call her parents in the morning, and either they’d come get her, or they’d read her the riot act and tell her she needed to get herself home immediately. Either way, it wasn’t really my problem.

  In the meantime, I’d get her a blanket and an extra pillow, and hope she’d have a somewhat restful night’s sleep. The apartment had been recently cleansed and protected, and so I had to believe that no evil dreams would reach her.

  “Do you need to get your bags out of your car?” I asked next.

  At once, she shook her head. “No. I mean, I’ve got a travel toothbrush and toothpaste in my purse, and I can get the rest of my stuff in the morning. I don’t want to go back down there in the dark.”

  I wanted to tell her she’d be perfectly safe, but I could sense she didn’t want to hear it. After what she’d been through, she had every right to be rattled.

  So I showed her where the guest bathroom was, and loaned her an old T-shirt to sleep in, and got a blanket and a pillow from the linen closet. Afterward, I escaped into my bedroom and shut the door, and did my own nighttime prep. It was only as I set my phone down on the bedside table after turning off the ringer that I paused.

  Calvin really needed to know Violet was okay. Problem was, I knew if I texted him to tell him she was staying at my place, he’d be right over, and the girl needed to rest. He could talk to her in the morning.

  I decided to compromise. I picked up the phone and sent a brief text: Violet is safe.

  That should be enough. We could sort out the details in the morning.

  I put the phone back down and lay back against the pillows. From outside my closed door, I heard the faint whisper of water running, and then the even lighter pad of Violet’s bare feet as she headed back to the living room. Silence after that, and I closed my eyes and released a breath.

  But even though I knew I should be trying to sleep, my thoughts couldn’t seem to calm themselves enough for me to reach that state. Something kept picking at the edges of my mind, telling me I’d missed something big.

  What, though?

  I rolled over on my side and released a breath. The scene down at the river replayed in my mind’s eye. The angry, restless wind which was all that remained of Lucien Dumond. The howl of that disembodied voice.

  Vile….

  Huge….

  My eyes flared open, and I shifted onto my back again as I stared up at the ceiling.

  What if Lucien hadn’t been saying “vile,” but had been trying to utter the word “Violet”?

  And “Huge”?

  Lucien’s younger brother was named Eugene. He’d never been even on the periphery of GLANG, but….

  Oh, dear Goddess.

  I sat up in bed, alarm shrilling through me. But even as I was reaching down to push back the bedcovers, the door to my bedroom flew open.

  Standing in the doorway were two figures, one short and slender, the other tall and bulky. The light in the hallway made a halo of her blonde hair, although I doubted she was an angel.

  The taller figure moved into my bedroom.

  “Hello, Selena,” said Eugene Dershowitz.

  16

  Family Ties

  We sat in the living room, Eugene and Violet pressed up against each other in a way that told me everything I needed to know about their relationship, while I occupied the easy chair.

  Not that there was anything particularly easy about my state of mind right then, although I found myself incongruously relieved that I’d taken to sleeping in loose tank tops and yoga pants after I started cohabiting with Archie, rather than going to bed in a pair of panties and nothing else the way I used to back in L.A.

  “You did it,” I said, my tone flat.

  “Did your psychic powers tell you that?” Eugene asked with a sneer. He resembled his brother a good deal, although he had a head of thick black hair, very unlike his brother’s shaved pate. Somehow, he managed to be even less attractive than Lucien.

  “I don’t need psychic powers to put two and two together,” I said coolly.

  Violet sent me an evil little smile. “Eugene has always been really good at hiding his powers. Lucien had no idea that his little brother was actually stronger than he was.”

  “And so you decided to murder him so you could inherit everything?”

  Eugene shrugged. “‘Murder’ is a very strong word. Let’s just say that I thought it was a good time for my big brother to move on from this life to his next turn on the wheel of existence.”

  “But you still wanted the money.”

  Violet’s expression turned condescending. “Well, duh. Except the problem was that Lucien had made Athene his heir, and Eugene would only inherit his money if she was dead, too. So we had to take care of that problem as well. Luckily, the both of them being here in Globe and away from all the protection spells they’d cast on their homes back in L.A. was all the opening we needed.”

  While that revelation made some sense, I couldn’t ignore one inconsistency in the narrative. “But you helped him cast a protection spell on Friday night,” I pointed out. “Athene told me about it.”

  “Using sex magic,” Violet replied before adding with a smirk, “I faked it.”

  Ah. Well, if she’d pretended to have an orgasm, then the spell wouldn’t have been solid…and it would have left both Lucien and Athene open to magical attack.

  “And where do I come in?” I asked, doing my best to sound calm. I had to guess they didn’t mind telling me the truth because they planned to get rid of my troublesome s
elf as soon as I’d done whatever it was that they needed from me.

  The couple exchanged a glance. Looking at them, I had to wonder how they’d managed to conceal their relationship from Lucien. The man had his faults, but no one could have accused him of being imperceptive.

  On the other hand, he also had an ego the size of the Titanic. Most likely, he hadn’t seen the signs because he couldn’t allow himself to believe that anyone would prefer his far less talented and charismatic brother over himself.

  Except Eugene had turned out to be just as powerful after all.

  He frowned. His eyebrows were as sparse as his brother’s, an odd contrast to his thick hair. Maybe he’d had a little help in that department, either via some kind of enchantment…or a lifetime membership in Hair Club for Men.

  “Lucien hid his will,” he said. “I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find it. He must have put some kind of concealment spell on it.”

  “What makes you think I would know where it is?” I asked. “Lucien never mentioned a will to me.”

  “Maybe not, but you can talk to him, right?”

  I stared at Eugene in consternation. How could he know that?

  Looking smug, he went on, “Yes, I was down by the river when you had your little tête-à-tête with my dearly departed brother. Poor guy was having a hard time getting the words out, wasn’t he? But you still could hear him.”

  Too bad I didn’t understand what he was trying to tell me until it was too late, I thought. If I’d only put the pieces together even ten minutes earlier….

  But that couldn’t be helped now. I had to pretend to go along with their wishes until I could come up with a way to extricate myself from the stickiest situation I’d ever found myself in.

  “So…you want me to talk to Lucien so he’ll reveal the location of his will?” I asked.

  “Exactly. Then we’ll go back to Los Angeles, and you can go on with…well, whatever it is you’re doing in this useless little town.”