Every Witch Way But Dead Read online

  “I’m going over there in a little while, okay?” Check.

  “Sure.” Checkmate! She won this time.

  With that, she was gone.

  After having children, I could shower in record time. After children, you learn to do a lot of things in record time. I was especially adept at wiggling into a floral sundress in less than ten seconds. I slid on my Birkenstock sandals and joined my husband outside. The weather was warm, the sky cloudless. It was unreal to me, even now, the difference a day makes. Just like the song says.

  Especially the way fate steps in, changing what could have been to what is. How such a vibrant young woman was alive one moment and gone the next… I raised the subject of last night’s ordeal.

  “It’s scary to think that our good friend Veronica Arthur was probably the intended target,” I said. “It must have been her mom who’d been coming to me in the vision. I just didn’t know it at the time. She, the spirit, said she was grateful her daughter was spared. I guess Ronnie was supposed to be holding the sword on stage and not Diane. It would make sense, after all. I mean, she is the lead singer.”

  Before we could continue the discussion, an unmarked police car pulled into our driveway. One of the detectives from the theater stepped out and walked up the steps of our front deck.

  He directed his gaze at Jon as he approached us. “Good morning. I’m Detective Sean Bennette. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about last night.”

  “Sure thing, Detective. There’s not much to tell, though,” my husband answered.

  “It’s just a few routine questions.” The detective made his way onto the porch, and Jon pulled out a chair for him to sit. He declined, preferring to stand, although he appeared worn-out.

  When he finally looked in my direction, there was a sense of immediate recognition on a level deep inside. Bright blue eyes unlike those I’d ever seen revealed he felt it, too, but his face swiftly displayed a visage of business. He proceeded with the questions.

  “The Arthurs tell me both you and the Arruccis were given VIP passes for the concert. That would give you backstage access, correct?” He looked almost uncomfortable. His demeanor shifted rapidly from when he’d first arrived. It was my psychic observer at work. The detective went from obvious confidence to almost awkwardness.

  “I suppose it would, but we didn’t get backstage. We were going to after the show,” Jon said.

  “Mrs. Kane?” he asked, looking at me directly then casting his gaze downward.

  “Yes,” I answered, trying to catch his glance.

  “You’re friendly with the Arthurs?” He busied himself with his notes. He appeared uncomfortable with me holding his gaze.

  “Yes, I am. Mostly with Veronica, but yes. We met at my shop and we’ve been friends ever since,” I continued, not looking away.

  “Were you friendly with the deceased?” he asked, his eyes back on mine, then away.

  “Not really, no.” This time, I had to look away. The more I stared, the deeper I went into his mesmerizing gaze. “I’d met her at a few parties held at the Arthurs, but it was superficial small talk.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would have a reason to hurt either Mrs. Arthur or the deceased?”

  I cringed at the word “deceased”. “No, I’ve got no idea who would want to hurt either of them. This wasn’t an accident?”

  “Mrs. Arthur is a customer of your shop?” he asked while writing down the answers.

  “Yes, she is. Mine and my partners’.” Once again, I matched his stare as I tried to read him. He was a jumble of emotions, very scattered, almost startled. Strange, I thought.

  His attention went to my husband. “Mr. Kane, you had no relationship to the deceased, either?”

  I could see Jon take a deep breath and I knew he resented the implications of the question.

  “No, I never saw her before last night. I went to the concert at my wife’s request. It’s not really my type of music.” He sighed, seeming slightly annoyed. “I met the other two singers at the party I attended, but Diane wasn’t around.

  “I hear they’re pretty good, actually. Well, thank you both. That should do it for now. I may need to speak with you again. I hope it won’t be a problem?”

  “Not at all,” Jon answered.

  Detective Bennette left his card and was gone. Jon and I stared at each other, trying to figure out what had just transpired.

  “Wow, I guess your premonition may be right,” Jon said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “This wasn’t an accident. Well, James, too bad you can’t tell the police about your inside information.” He smiled.

  “Very funny.”

  “The detective was very attracted to you, my dear. He reminded me of that actor who donates the profits from his cooking products to charities,” my husband teased.

  “Yeah, I suppose he does look a little like him.” I sighed. “A young, blond version. Anyway, I think the detective’s just punchy. He looks like he put in a full night’s work.”

  “No, he was taken by you, I can tell. He got all jittery. You didn’t pick up on that? I guess I have a little intuition working, too, ya know? You’re quite the beauty, did I tell you that today?”

  I laughed. “No, not today, honey.”

  “Let me show you, then,” he said, taking my hand and leading me inside and up to our room. Amazing what a little jealousy could do.

  * * *

  After making love, we lay silently in bed. Neither one of us spoke for quite a while. Jon finally broke the stillness.

  “Before I forget, Ouida called late last night. She’s at Lake Pontchartrain—in Louisiana? Some Vodou gathering on the twenty-third,” he said as he rolled over in bed.

  “Yeah, I chatted with her earlier for a few minutes. She said since she didn’t go last year, she was determined to be there this year with her daughter. It’s a kind of initiation for Lily.”

  “I guess she heard via the psychic hotline about what happened last night?” Jon asked. “What’dya call it? The phone tree?”

  “Yeah, she certainly did, from Marisa, I gather. Look, I hope you don’t mind, but I thought it’d be nice, since Heena had the day off for a change, that we’d go to her house to celebrate the Solstice.” I sat up and looked for my clothes.

  “Of course I don’t mind.”

  “Good.” I stood and headed for the master bathroom.

  “We haven’t had good Indian food in ages,” Jon said, his brow furrowed.

  I turned to face him. “Thinking about last night?” A thought darted across my mind.

  “Yeah. I can’t get that poor girl’s face out of my head.”

  “Me, too. Hey—guess who just moved in a few weeks ago, two doors down from Heena?” I grabbed Jon’s hand and led him into the shower.

  “Okay, James, I give up. You’re the mind reader of the family anyway, not me.”

  “Psychic dear, not mind reader. Marc and Veronica Arthur did. I didn’t tell you? They’re Heena’s new neighbors.”

  Chapter Five

  Midsummer Incense

  2 parts sandalwood

  1 part mugwort

  1 part chamomile

  1 part gardenia petals

  1 part rose petals

  A few drops rose oil

  A few drops lavender oil

  A few drops yarrow oil

  A few drops of rosemary oil

  ~ From Angelica Kane’s Book of Shadows

  Heena and Nandan Birbal’s home was exquisite. The foyer was a masterpiece of Italian marble. To the left was the living room in which, no doubt, no one lived. It was immaculate. A baby grand piano regally commanded the room, with plants and furniture playing second string.

  Adjacent to the living room was Heena’s dining area, which had plenty of use with all their dinner parties—only a few of which we were invited to. We attend the religious celebrations, which was fine with me. The wining and dining of other doctors and department chairpersons
was not my cup of Ceylon tea.

  We sat outside overlooking the water and their sailboat, which bobbed in the calm sea. It gently rocked back and forth against the bulkhead. Dusk crept up riding on a slight breeze that blew off the water. Rich, Jon and Dave, Kara’s date de jour, were getting to enjoy the big screen TV, while we welcomed summer out back.

  “Hey, Heena, where do the Arthurs live? East or west of you?” Marisa asked as she lit the torches.

  “They live to the west—two houses down, on my side of the street. The police were there today, all night and this morning. I guess it’s concerning last night.” Her speech carried the Hindi dialect of her childhood in New Delhi. She brought out bouquets of velvety scarlet roses from her gardens and placed them reverently on our altar. I situated a dozen red candles next to the roses, along with sunflowers from my garden.

  Marisa gave Heena the same altar cloth she was giving to Ivy at the full moon esbat. It was ideal for the Solstice. Kara had brought beer for the guys and a beautiful bamboo plant in a lovely ceramic pot for Heena. The bamboos twined together like a lattice fence and were decorated with red ribbon, symbolizing long life.

  “I’m going to take a walk to see how the Arthurs are doing. You want to come with me?” I asked Heena and Marisa. “Ivy’s not here and Kara’s glued to Dave for the moment. We have some time before the moon rises.”

  “All right,” Heena said. She instructed her mother in Hindi to do something, relax, I imagine. The woman nodded and went upstairs. “She never sits!” Heena sighed.

  “Like mother, like daughter.” I smiled.

  As we approached the Arthurs’ home, I noted the classic Tudor design with Belgian block lining the driveway. Evergreens towered over it like dragons protecting the manor on one side; an unkempt menagerie of trees occupied the opposite edge.

  I’d been to their other house on a number of occasions and it was there that I learned about their other passion. Animals. They took in stray cats, had them spayed or neutered and released them outside again. Cats are not stupid and they more often than not adopted Ronnie and Marc. They ate well and had a place to go in inclement weather. What could be better? But the four-legged kings of that castle were the canine members.

  A mêlée of barks came from the yard as we rang the bell. One would think there were at least six dogs inside, but in reality, there were two, a large golden retriever and a teacup Pomeranian.

  A broken security camera at the front gate leaned like a drunk clinging onto a lamppost. A voice declared over the intercom, “The Arthurs aren’t seeing anyone today.”

  “This is their neighbor, Heena Birbal, from two doors down. I’m here with some friends of the Arthurs. Marisa Arrucci and Angelica Kane.”

  “Ronnie knows us from Sacred Treasures,” Marisa piped up.

  We heard the buzz letting us through and made our way across the large front yard. Most of the homes on the water sat back on the property, with modest backyards and substantial front lawns.

  Marc shuffled to the door in sweats and a tee shirt, looking like he hadn’t slept all night. Which, undoubtedly, he hadn’t, judging from the deep circles under his emerald eyes. His jet-black hair was disheveled and he hadn’t shaved.

  “Hi, come in. Hi, Heena, how are you?” Marc invited us in, rubbing his hand against his stubbled chin.

  Marble lined the floor and rich, wood crown moldings traced their ceilings. The open windows allowed in the cool breeze from the Sound. Marc led us into the back of the house. I tried to take in as much as I could and noticed Marisa doing the same. It wasn’t every day you get to enter a rock ‘n’ roll icon’s home. I felt silly, like the old washerwomen I complain about to my husband. I had to laugh to myself. It was either that or I would cry. Photos of family, concerts and plenty of candid shots along with promo pictures lined the hallways. Diane was in most of them.

  “I wanted to thank you for the gift basket you sent over when we moved in. That was very nice.” Marc’s voice carried the Irish lilt of his homeland.

  Heena shook her head. “It was my pleasure. Angelica and Marisa speak very highly of you and your wife. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wish it were under happier circumstances.”

  “Me, too,” Marc said as he led us out back to their deck. Along each side of their property, evergreens and weeping willows stood at attention, which left the view of the Sound. Off to the west, the sun was setting, a raspberry dipped in gold, sinking ever so slowly into the saucy sea.

  Veronica Arthur sat huddled in a lounge chair and, despite the warm temperatures, she swaddled herself in a Navaho-print blanket. A glass of wine and a half empty box of tissues sat next to her.

  “Hi, Ronnie. How are you?” Marisa asked as she made her way over to the fragile-looking singer. She gave her a hug. Tears escaped Ronnie’s red-rimmed eyes.

  “Hi, Ronnie, I’m so sorry,” I whispered and leaned over to give her a gentle hug.

  “Thanks, Angie, how are you? Hi, Heena.” Ronnie spoke in barely audible tones. Small holes littered her usually bright aura.

  I pulled up a wicker chair across from her and sat.

  Abruptly, the onslaught of Ronnie’s emotions overwhelmed me. I stared silently at my hands, taking in deep breaths, trying frantically to ground myself. I avoided eye contact at all costs for fear I would fall flat on my face, right then and there. Dear Goddess, not now. This was not a good time, not that it ever was.

  I lost ground rapidly. The voices threatened to split through the ethers. A buzz that began at the base of my skull wrapped itself around my entire head. It gripped securely and refused to let go. Tell her I love her and I’m always with her—tell my daughter it was me in her dream last night. Please. Tell her, the sibilating voice demanded.

  A circle of flames appeared. I heard the rhythmic cadence of a prayer.

  No, it was a ritual.

  Over and over the words repeated, gaining strength and momentum. A static chill filled the air.

  I struggled to keep my composure. I could feel the color dissolve from my face. This specter was not going to take no for an answer. I fought with myself and, against my better judgment, I spoke, hoping the dizziness would subside once I relayed the message.

  Struggling for control I muttered, “Oh—no.”

  Marisa spun her head around. I thought she’d cracked her neck. “What now?” she asked.

  “I don’t know—Ronnie’s mom was just here, b-but now she’s gone.” I shrugged.

  Ronnie’s eyes spilled over with tears and she began to weep. Marc rushed to her side. I felt like a villain. All that was missing was a moustache to twirl.

  “I’m sorry, Veronica, I don’t mean to upset you, but your mom has been—ah—she’s been trying to get my attention lately. Only I didn’t know it was your mom until last night. Mom’s quite persistent.” I laughed nervously, feeling idiotic. “She says she loves you and that she came to you last night. In a dream.”

  I looked over at Veronica. Her form became a silhouette as she phased in and out of view. I tried desperately to focus on her, but the more I concentrated, the louder the pounding in my head hammered. A cold breeze blew right through me.

  Heena sat next to me. “Angie, are you all right?

  A dark mist appeared behind Veronica. Her aura turned gray and merged with the sinister vapors. I tried to speak, but my voice only croaked. I pointed behind Veronica. A male figure emerged from the energy cloud. Only I could see him.

  She wrapped her blanket tighter around her and her eyes grew wide as her mouth formed words I couldn’t hear. A flash of white metal flashed across her face and sliced her lily-white throat.

  I blacked out.

  * * *

  “Angie—wake up. What’s happening?” Veronica cried.

  “Not again,” Marisa groaned, taking out another small bottle of Kabbala water from her shoulder bag.

  Heena was checking my pulse when my eyes fluttered open. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yeah—I’m back. Wow!
That was strange,” I said trying to catch my breath.

  “Did you have a vision?” Marc asked.

  I nodded. Thankfully, Marisa and Heena took over. I still felt bit nauseous and hung-over.

  “You see, Angie’s been getting these…premonitions. Not only gruesome but also…a bit vague,” Marisa tried valiantly to explain.

  “Horrifying, from what I understand,” Heena continued. “As you know, they were at your concert last night, and Angie saw what was about to happen—but it was too late.” Heena looked at me as she made quotation marks with her hands to emphasize the word “saw”.

  “It all happened so quickly.” My eyes widened as I gazed at Heena.

  “Marisa called me last night,” she confessed. That psychic hotline travels at light speed.

  I continued the explanation. “It’s all very jumbled, these visions, and it wasn’t until last night when I was there at the concert that the vision became clearer—but…”

  Marc interrupted. “There’s no need to explain. Angie, Ronnie and I are all too familiar with the way these things work. A bit like charades, eh?”

  I heaved a sigh of relief. “I feel awful, like I failed.” My throat began to tighten. “I still can’t figure it out.”

  “No.” Ronnie spoke quietly. “It makes perfect sense. My mother did come to me in my dream last night, and she said it was meant to be. That’s all she kept saying. That, and be careful.” She took another sip of wine then placed the glass on the snack table and closed her eyes. “It’s been a living nightmare.” Ronnie buried her head in her hands.

  “Ronnie,” I said, “I don’t want to frighten you and you’ve probably figured this out already. You’re in danger. You need to be extra careful. I can’t get a solid fix on who it is other than a male.”

  Veronica nodded as her husband wrapped his arms protectively around her.

  Heena patted my back. “It’ll come,” she reassured me.

  But would it be too late. I didn’t want to alarm Veronica any more than she was, so I kept the details of my vision to myself. “We better go,” I said. I feared I’d done more harm than good.