“Yeah, that’s what I said, but I was trying to pin it down,” Beth said. She looked at Rocky. “Does it matter?”
“Actually, yes, but I can check with Brent later,” he said flatly, then decided to go for it. “I’m trying to find out if you tried to break into her house and then set fire to her lawn.”
“What?” Beth gasped.
Gayle sighed. “Beth, we’re all under suspicion.”
“Look,” Rocky said to Beth, “you two are friends. Naturally, your prints are all over. We’re eliminating people who are close—it helps, believe me.”
“You have my prints?” Beth asked, frowning.
“He’s the government, Beth. He has everything,” Gayle said.
Just then Theo emerged from the back with his customer. Seeing the group at the counter, he joined them as soon as he showed his customer out. “Hey,” he said, looking at Rocky expectantly.
“Hey. Business as usual, I see,” Rocky said, shaking Theo’s hand.
“People like their cards read,” Theo said.
“Do they come to you to speak with the dead?” Rocky asked.
“Sometimes,” Theo said. “But I don’t do anything like that. A good tarot reader understands how the cards can guide someone, though. We’re listeners, really. And cheaper than a psychiatrist.” He shook his head. “Love affairs are my biggest dilemma. Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t stop by just to chat, so what’s up?”
“He’s here because we’re all under suspicion,” Gayle said.
“Oh!” Theo said, clearly surprised.
“Just following through,” Rocky told him.
“Big Brother has my prints, and they’re all over Devin’s house,” Beth explained.
“I’m also back to warn Beth and Gayle to be careful and remind them not to go anywhere alone,” Rocky said. “We think the murderer is targeting women whose family trees go back to the time of the witchcraft trials.” He turned to Gayle. “Did you know you and Beth are distantly related?” he asked her.
“Half of Salem is related,” Gayle said with a shrug. “Of course, aren’t we all related way back when somehow?”
“Neanderthals,” Beth said.
“Well, the point is that women who can trace their family history back that far need to be especially careful,” Rocky said.
“Don’t worry, Beth and I are being very careful,” Gayle promised.
“I convinced the two of them to actually stay together instead of just talking about it,” Theo said.
“Thanks, Theo,” Rocky said. “By the way—you had ancestors here at the time, too.”
“Me?” Theo sounded surprised.
But was his tone sincere—or feigned? Rocky had to wonder.
“Yes, we found out while researching our theories about victimology,” Rocky said. “Our Jane Doe is still a mystery, of course, but the last victim—Barbara Benton—was in Salem specifically because she had family here at the time of the witchcraft trials and wanted to find out more about them. Same with Melissa Wilson years ago, and Carly Henderson.”
Beth looked worriedly at Gayle, then back to Rocky. “You weren’t kidding. We really do have to be careful.”
“Don’t go anywhere alone,” Theo said sternly.
“Keep thinking for me, will you?” Rocky asked them. “If you can remember anything at all that happened at the bar the night Barbara Benton died, it could really help.”
“We’ll try, Rocky. Honestly. We’d do anything to help you,” Theo said.
Waving goodbye, Rocky left the shop, calling out his thanks and one last warning to be careful.
He couldn’t help himself. He stood in the middle of the pedestrian mall on Essex and watched people go by. Some were heading to the Peabody/Essex Museum, some to the smaller “witchcraft” museums and some just to shop or find a restaurant.
He heard snatches of conversation. Many people were excited and unworried, talking about where they were going next. But some were talking about the murders.
Couples held hands tightly.
Mothers walked close to daughters.
Fathers had wary eyes.
Rocky pulled out his phone and called Devin again.
“Do I still have any friends?” she asked.
“I was the perfect picture of diplomacy,” he said, though he knew he was stretching the definition a bit.
“And?”
“Beth says she went by your house with Brent a few days ago and tried the back door.”
“I’m sure she did.”
Ignoring that, preferring to wait for facts and not emotion, he asked, “What are you up to?”
“We’re at the cottage, creating cross-referenced family trees to show the connections between the murdered women, the people you and I know and Margaret Nottingham. Oh, and Sam and Jenna are here, too. They’re still sorting through missing-persons reports from around the country.”
“Jane Doe,” he murmured.
“Are you coming over?” she asked him.
“Soon.”
“Good. We’ll pull something together for dinner,” she said.
“Sounds good.”
Rocky hung up and realized he was near Brent’s Which Witch Is Which, and decided he needed to drop in.
Brent was there—glum and alone.
He looked at Rocky with weary eyes. “No tour tonight—I guess news of my visit to the police station got out.”
“I’m sorry,” Rocky told him. “You did have the cell phone.”
“I was set up.”
“By who?”
“I wish to hell I knew,” Brent said.
“We’ll catch him and this will end,” Rocky said. “And then, who knows, your adventure might become a selling point.”
“This from the man who ruined my life.”
“Your life isn’t ruined—the dead women are the ones whose lives have been ruined.”
Brent swallowed and glanced at Rocky with a guilty expression. “Yeah, sorry, you’re right.”
“Did you go by Devin’s with Beth a few nights ago?”
Brent frowned. “Yeah, but she wasn’t there.”
“Thanks,” Rocky told him.
“Why are you asking?”
“Brent, I know you think I tried to ruin your life, but there was nothing personal about it. It’s just that the more we know, the easier it is to zero in on what we don’t know and narrow down the clues to the ones that might actually lead us somewhere.”
“So what do I have to do to get off your suspect list?” Brent asked. “You want me to wear an anklet that tells you where I am all the time?”
“Not a bad idea,” Rocky said. “But not really legal, either.”
“Hey, I’ll report in any time you want. I’m not going through that again.”
“Yeah, I understand.”
“No, no, you don’t,” Brent said. “But I believe you’re trying,” he added grudgingly.
Rocky’s phone rang, and he excused himself to answer.
It was Sam Hall. “Get over here now. We have an ID on our Jane Doe.”
17
“Hermione?” Rocky said. He knew he sounded bewildered, but really? Hermione?
“Hermione Robicheaux,” Devin said. “Her family moved south in the 1800s. But once Jenna found the missing-persons report with her picture, it was easy to trace her family history and end up right here in Salem.”
“We contacted the Nashville police. They sent her dental records to the morgue in Boston, and the M.E. confirmed it. She’s our Jane Doe,” Angela told him.
“Hermione?” Rocky said again.
“Her parents apparently liked the name, even before Harry Potter,” Sam said. “She was thirty—one of our older victims. And the reason we couldn’t ID her sooner is she had vacation time coming and planned her trip here on her own to look into her family history. When she didn’t show up at work a few days ago, her boss thought she had just up and quit—apparently they didn’t get along too well―but her coworkers got wo
rried. Her parents died when she was young, and she grew up in foster homes. But they contacted the distant cousin she’d listed as next of kin, and that’s who filed the report.”
“Makes her death even sadder,” Devin said. “She was just looking for family—for people to love.”
“Maybe she’s finally found family,” Auntie Mina said.
Devin looked over at her and smiled, then turned back to Rocky. “No one here reported her missing?”
“She might not have had time to check into a hotel. Besides, the people who work around here can see hundreds of people in a day. It’s not surprising no one recognized her picture.”
“So the victims weren’t random,” Sam said. “Whoever the killer is, he has a way to find victims who fit his profile.”
“And he knew how to hack the surveillance system at the hotel,” Jane pointed out.
“I’m impressed,” Rocky said, looking around Devin’s dining room table at the group that had gathered: Sam, Jenna, Jane, Angela, Devin—and Auntie Mina. “I’m impressed you were able to trace all those people that far back. Do me a favor and run through it again. Maybe something will jump out at me.”
“Okay, this is what we know,” Jane explained. “Devin is a descendant of Margaret Myles Nottingham. Brent Corbin and your friend Vince Steward can trace their lineage back to Elizabeth Blackmire—the first person to accuse Margaret Nottingham of witchcraft. Beth Fullway and Gayle Alden can both trace their lineage back to the same family. Gayle’s ancestor was Mary Beckett—born Mary Nottingham. Beth’s ancestor, Rebecca Masters, was born a Beckett. The two women were sisters-in-law.”
Rocky sighed in frustration. “If we follow one train of thought, the murderer would be Brent or Vince, because they’re carrying on a tradition of hatred or some kind of rite. But Vince has an alibi—a good one. And we pretty much ripped Brent’s life apart and didn’t find a thing to suggest he had anything to do with any of the murders.”
“We have to figure out why Margaret Nottingham was murdered and who did it,” Devin said. “I really think that will help us figure out the motive, and once we have the motive we can find the killer.”
“True, but there could still be other motives,” Rocky said. “Contemporary motives.”
Angela shook her head. “Everything we’ve learned points to the past. The victims all had some association with Salem. They had family members here at the time of the trials. We haven’t seen any other commonality between them, and the choice of victims isn’t random, not given the witchcraft angle in the way he leaves the bodies.”
“What about Beth’s fingerprints being on Devin’s back door?” Sam asked.
Devin couldn’t help but tense. “She’s my friend. Of course her prints are at my house. Besides, she had just turned fourteen when Melissa Wilson was murdered.”
“It is incredibly unlikely,” Sam said, “that a fourteen-year-old girl committed a murder that left no clues and was so cleanly executed. Even ignoring the fact that she probably wasn’t tall enough, children do murder, but rarely in such a calculated manner, and rarely without leaving any evidence behind.”
“I don’t think Beth was even allowed out past nine o’clock at night back then. Her parents were pretty strict,” Devin said.
“Puritanical?” Jenna asked with a smile.
“Just the parents of a teenage girl,” Devin said.
“I agree. Nothing is impossible, but it’s definitely unlikely. And given her friendship with Devin, I don’t think we can read anything into her prints being at the house.” Rocky paused thoughtfully. “Jack’s people have pursued leads on some other names that have popped up in various places. So far, everyone has alibis that pan out and are clear. Of course, we’re focusing on alibis for the one murder, now, really, and may have to expand, but I just can’t believe my gut is wrong on this.”
“So now we’re looking at Theo, aren’t we?” Jane asked. “He says that he’s not from here, but his family was—and at one time so was he.”
“We don’t know how old he was when he went to the Midwest—we may be able to check tax records and establish that—but we know he came back here as an adult,” Devin said.
Rocky nodded. “And the fact that he was gone for years actually addresses one of our biggest questions―why the killer stopped for so many years between Melissa and Carly. We definitely need to learn more about him. I’m certain we’re on the right track. The personal connection helps explain burning a pentagram into Devin’s lawn.”
“A warning?” Sam wondered.
“Or maybe—as Margaret’s descendant—I’m supposed to be the grand finale,” Devin asked.
“I don’t think the killer wants you dead. I believe the fire was meant to scare you off,” Jane said quickly.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Rocky said. He looked at Jane and wondered if she had spoken just to allay Devin’s fears. “We can’t let down our guard, though.”
“So,” Devin said matter-of-factly, “you said you’re going to concentrate on Theo, but what about Jack?”
“No one has worked harder on this case,” Rocky said.
“She has a point,” Sam said. “When you’re working the case, you know everything that goes on with it, all the little details that are kept from the press.”
“We all work on the premise that the more people we eliminate, the closer we get to the truth,” Jane said. “And we really haven’t looked at Jack.”
“You’re right,” Rocky said. “It’s just...”
“None of us want to think our friends could be involved in something like this,” Jenna said.
“Right. None of us,” Devin said.
“Okay, so we’ll look into Jack. And now that we have a name, we show Hermione Robicheaux’s picture all over town and try to find out where she was and what she was doing on the day she was killed.”
“Her picture has already been out there, and no one has come forward,” Jane said.
“But we haven’t been out there with it, forcing people to take a close look,” Rocky said. “We’ll try to follow her footsteps. And we’ll go back and retrace Carly Henderson’s last day. We’ll pound the pavement until we find something. Or...”
“Or?” Devin asked.
No one said anything at first.
Then Angela let out a soft sigh. “Or we wait until the killer strikes again—and we move as quickly as possible. He’ll make a mistake.”
“How do you know that?” Devin asked.
“All killers do—eventually,” Sam said.
Auntie Mina suddenly spoke up. “You will find out what’s going on,” she snapped firmly, “and no one else will die.”
With those ferocious words, she was gone.
Angela finally spoke. “Dinner. We have to eat, whether anyone feels like it or not. Everyone needs to keep their strength up right now.”
“I’ll set the table,” Sam said.
“Sorry, guys, but it’s just chicken,” Devin said. “It’s a good recipe, though—chicken and dumplings.”
Jane laughed. “Why are you apologizing?”
Devin shrugged. “I guess because chicken’s always boring banquet food.”
Rocky smiled at her. “Chicken and dumplings sounds great.”
* * *
They ate, cleaned up, gave Poe some attention and headed back to the hotel. Rocky was quiet, on edge. And yet, when they reached the room he turned immediately to Devin and drew her into his arms.
Neither one of them spoke. They simply held each other, made love, drifted into a doze wrapped up together, then woke and made love again, and finally lay silently in the darkness of their room.
She knew, though, that when he touched her, he was fully with her. That he felt the same arousal she did when their naked flesh touched, felt her lips, moved with her as if they were one.
But she knew, too, as they lay there together listening to the hum of the air conditioner and the slowing thunder of their hearts, that he was brooding on the case. She didn?
??t speak, only lay with him and let him think. She thought he probably felt the same kind of numbness she did. It was impossible to believe that a friend could have committed murder.
They slept curled together. When they woke in the morning, she was spooned against him, comfortable in the feel of his arms around her.
“We’re moving back to the house,” he said, smiling as she turned to look at him in surprise.
“Um, okay,” she said.
“Margaret Nottingham came to see you there,” he said.
“And led me to a dead woman in the woods. I’m really praying she doesn’t do anything like that again.”
“I just think we need to be there,” Rocky said. “Margaret’s ghost may come or...I don’t know. Just call it a hunch and leave it at that.”
“Is everyone coming?” Devin asked. “It would be fine, of course. We’ll fit them in somehow.”
“Just the two of us,” he said.
She grew momentarily serious at the thought, then reminded him, “It won’t really be just the two of us, though.”
He smiled. “Mina? Well, I suppose I can control my libido in the effort to save lives and provide us with a future.”
Devin looked away quickly.
A future. It was a nice concept. But he was an FBI agent whose job took him all over the country. She wrote children’s books and lived here in Salem.
“I’ll be good, I promise,” he said.
She looked up and smiled at him. “Oh, I’m not worried about you. It’s my own desires I’m worried about. Never mind. The thought of Auntie Mina appearing is something I usually love—but not in my bedroom.” She gave an exaggerated shudder.
“We’ll both behave,” he said.
“Are we bait?” she asked.
“I would never let you be bait,” he said. “You’ll never be there alone.”
She rose up on an elbow and smiled at him. “I’m not afraid. Well, I am afraid, but not of going back to my house. Whoever this is, he’s not relying on strength. He gets people out to the woods and then slips up behind them. He takes them by surprise. I don’t think there’s any way we can be taken by surprise.”
“Not by surprise, no, but I’ve seen desperate killers do things no one would ever expect. But you’ll never be alone,” he swore.