Deadly Harvest

  “Where are you staying here in town?” Joe asked Jeremy bluntly.

  “I’m renting an old house over on Essex,” he told Joe, reminding himself that the old guy had been through a lot, so no wonder he was protective of Rowenna. God knew, he didn’t even want to imagine what it would be like to lose a son. Parents weren’t supposed to outlive their children. Sons should bury their fathers, not the other way around.

  “I’ll come join you after we eat,” Rowenna said.

  “I’ll walk her over,” Joe promised.

  “Okay, see you then.”

  As Jeremy walked away, he was aware that they were all watching him until he had left the restaurant. He knew that he would be the topic of conversation for at least the next few minutes.

  It was just a few blocks down the quiet streets to the hotel bar where he was planning to meet Brad Johnstone. The night was cool and crisp. Streetlights lit the way, but the businesses were closed for the day, and a forlorn feeling had settled over the street, along with the fallen leaves of autumn.

  The hotel had been built in the early part of the twentieth century, but it was surrounded by buildings that dated back to the late 1700s. It was near the town green, where Pilgrims had once grazed their livestock. Now a concert was advertised for the following weekend.

  The hotel offered a wave of warmth after the chill of the streets. He found the bar, and there, slumped in a stool at the bar, head resting in his hands, was Brad.

  Jeremy walked over and set a hand on his shoulder. When Brad looked up, the hope in his eyes was so great it was almost alarming. He stood and threw his arms around Jeremy, hugging him tightly. Jeremy patted his back, feeling awkward, and extricated himself from his friend’s grasp.

  “What’s your poison?” the bartender asked, coming right over.

  “I’ll take a draft, thanks,” Jeremy said.

  “We can move to a booth over there,” Brad said, grabbing his glass, which was filled with what looked to be bourbon. “Hugh,” he said to the bartender, “this is my friend Jeremy Flynn. He’s here to help me find Mary.”

  “Sure hope so,” Hugh said, handing Jeremy a beer. Apparently the bartender was on Brad’s side, Jeremy thought.

  But not everyone was. That was apparent immediately. Three women and two men were sitting nearby, and as he slid into the booth that Brad had pointed out, he saw one of the women nudge the other and whisper something as they stared at Jeremy. The second woman shuddered visibly.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Brad told him.

  “I’ll do anything I can to help,” Jeremy assured him. “You know that. Still nothing?”

  “If I’d heard anything,” Brad said glumly, “the world would know.” He groaned. “To tell the truth, I’m just waiting for someone to come and slip the cuffs on me.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “Brad, no one can arrest you without evidence, and there isn’t any evidence, because you would never hurt Mary. The thing is, no one disappears into thin air, so there will be evidence of something, somewhere. What we have to do is track down that evidence.”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve gone over our every footstep?” Brad asked him.

  “Doesn’t matter. We’re going to do it again,” Jeremy said.

  Brad nodded glumly.

  “I’m so afraid.”

  He was definitely telling the truth on that score. His fingers were trembling as he picked up his glass. “Last night…for just a second, I thought…”

  “You thought…what? You saw her? Heard her? What?”

  Brad shook his head ruefully. “I thought she called me on the phone. But it wasn’t her, it was her mother. She was crying, begging me to give Mary back to them. I think she’d been drinking. Then Mary’s dad got on the line and told me he was going to kill me.”

  “He isn’t going to kill you.”

  Brad ignored that comment and went on. “He’s given her up for dead. I can’t do that.” He hesitated and looked at Jeremy, his eyes unfocused, as if he’d had a few bourbons before this one. “She isn’t dead, Jeremy. I think that I’d feel it. I know that sounds stupid, but I really think I’d feel it. But she’s…she’s in danger. If we don’t find her soon, she will be dead. Oh, God.” Bourbon nearly sloshed over the rim of his glass when he picked it up this time, draining half the contents of the glass in a swallow. “Jeremy, we walked into the cemetery and Mary disappeared. That was it.”

  “Brad, it was Halloween. There were dozens of people around. Someone must have seen something. We just haven’t found that person yet.”

  Brad went on as if he hadn’t even heard him. “Now the whole world knows we were having problems, that we’d just gotten back together. They write about me in the papers as if I’m a monster.”

  “What they write in the papers doesn’t matter.”

  “Oh, yeah? People stare at me, Jeremy.”

  “Toughen up, Brad. Hell, you’re a cop. You know what people think, and you know it doesn’t matter. What matters is thinking of every single detail, of following every little clue.”

  Wincing, Brad nodded. “I know that, and I’ve tried. We’ve thought of everything…Hell, the cops here have even looked at the idea that Mary was pulling a disappearing act to get even with me. But she didn’t. Mary isn’t like that. You know her, and you know she’d never do anything like that. Plus we found her cell phone and her purse, with her credit cards and ID still in it, lying on a grave.”

  “Have they investigated the grave?” Jeremy asked.

  Brad shook his head, reaching for his drink again. “It wasn’t disturbed. Jeremy, it really is like she disappeared into thin air.”

  “I told you, no one disappears into thin air. No matter how efficient the kidnapper was, he’ll have left evidence. For now, tell me everything about that day.”

  Brad shook his head. “You must have heard everything already by now. I’m sure you were on the Internet two minutes after I called you.”

  “I want to hear it from you. The whole day, from start to finish.”

  Brad almost smiled. “With details? We started the morning off with a wild bout of sex. Honest. That’s the best thing about making up, starting over. Man, the sex has been good again. Had been good,” he added in a whisper.

  “The rest of the day, Brad. Everything. You had sex. And then…?”

  Brad nodded. Took a deep breath. Started talking. He had street names down pat, along with museum and shop names. But he hesitated when he got to the afternoon.

  “It was that Damien guy. I know it. He was a real creep. He liked Mary right off. I saw the way he looked at her.”

  “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.”

  5

  Rowenna 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 sw
ept 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.