Waking the Witch

twenty-five

What the hell had happened with my knockback and energy-bolt spells? had spells didn’t fail—not ones I knew so well I bolt spells? My spells didn’t fail—not ones I knew so well I could cast them in my sleep.

As I thought about it, though, I remembered that lingering headache and my unsettled stomach. Nothing serious, but put them together and I could be coming down with something. The last time I’d had the flu, it had wiped me out, spell power, too.

But right now, my biggest worry was that I’d made a mistake by walking away and leaving Tiffany with a warning. I’d wanted to push harder, yet I’d realized that I didn’t have any leverage. All I knew was that she’d done something she thought worthy of council attention. I needed more information.

Molly said the ritual was druidic. I kind of hoped she was wrong, because that added another complication to a case that didn’t need it, not when I was already following leads on witchcraft and Santeria. Did that mean Tiffany Radu wasn’t the only supernatural hiding out in Columbus? Was she hiding? If so, from what? Was it related to the person stalking her? The person stalking me? Was that person involved in Michael’s death?

As I walked toward the Thompson home, I called Paige.

“So, how’s the beach?” I said when she answered.

“We saw it.”

“Through your resort room window?”

She gave a throaty laugh. “No. We went for a beach walk last night. Today we’re touring the volcano. Tomorrow we’re going into the rain forest.”

“Missing the point, aren’t you? You’re supposed to be lying on the beach, soaking up the rays ...”

Paige made a gagging noise. Even on vacation, it would take a binding spell to get her to stay still.

We talked for another couple of minutes. Then, as I was ready to hang up, she suddenly said. “Is everything okay, Savannah?”

“Hmm?”

“You sound a little off. Are you okay?”

My throat clenched and I gripped the phone. No, I’m not. The guy I went out with last night is dead. I found his body. I spent the night being interrogated by the cops. I don’t want to tell you what’s happening because you’re on vacation, and I can handle this, but I just feel ... lonely. I feel lonely.

“Everything’s fine,” I said.

A pause. “Okay, then, well, if you need us, just call.”

“I will.”

NEXT, JESSE CHECKED in to say he’d gotten tied up in Seattle—a client showed up just as he was grabbing stuff from the office. He was on his way now and would call me when he was in town.

I told him about Tiffany. I’m not sure what bothered him most: that she knew who I was or that we both thought someone was spying on us.

“The targeting of two witches doesn’t constitute a racially motivated pattern, as Lucas would say,” I said. “We could just have a random peeper.”

“Still, I don’t like it,” he said. “Be careful, okay?”

When I told him about the druidic link, he seemed far less concerned.

“Not many of them practice the old rites these days,” he said. “Who’s your source?”

“A friend of my mom’s.”

“We should check it out, but I suspect someone’s just trying to get in your good books, Savannah. Have you asked Adam to look into it?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d research it myself.”

“Let me handle it, then. I’ll send the pics to a Druid buddy, see what he says.”

I signed off and headed up the walk to confront Paula Thompson.

When I knocked, Kayla answered. She looked up at me, her thin face solemn. “I’m sorry about Detective Kennedy.”

“So am I.”

She nodded and backed up to let me in.

“Is your grandma—?”

“Right here.” Paula rounded the corner, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron.

“Something smells good,” I said.

“It’s for you,” Kayla said. “When Mom died, people brought food over, so I told Grandma we should make you something. Usually it’s casseroles, but Grandma said you won’t want that in a motel room, so we’re making muffins. Do you like blueberry?”

“I love them,” I said. “Thank you.”

Damn. This was going to make what I had to do very tough.

“Do you have a minute?” I said to Paula. “I need to speak to you.”

“Of course. Come on in.”

She waved me through to the kitchen. History books were spread across the table. As Kayla moved them aside, I could see her work-sheets, her neat handwriting below her grandma’s questions, Paula’s writing painfully precise, like a schoolgirl’s herself. Homeschooling a child couldn’t be easy, but Paula was trying. Anything for her granddaughter.

I turned to Paula. “I should really speak to you alone.”

“I’m fine,” Kayla said, parking herself in a chair.

“It’s about the police file on Ginny’s murder,” I said. “Did you know they took DNA samples?”

“Course they did,” Kayla said. “Everyone does these days.”

“Actually, no. Someone seems to have gone a little overboard, considering they didn’t find any DNA at the scene. They took samples from the victims and they tried to from any possible suspects. Cody wouldn’t go for it, but they got them from an old boyfriend of Brandi’s, as well as Ginny’s landlord, and Alastair Koppel ...”

Paula froze, oven door open, muffin tray in hand. It took her a second to unstick herself and get the tray in.

“We compared samples,” I said.

“With what?” Kayla asked, screwing up her nose. “You said there wasn’t any DNA at the scene.”

“Kayla,” Paula said. “I need some brown sugar.”

“Brown sugar?”

“To sprinkle on the tops.” She dug in her purse and handed Kayla a ten. “Can you get some from the grocery? And, yes, you can buy yourself something. Remember what the dentist said, though, no hard or sticky candy.”

Kayla studied her grandmother’s expression, then she scowled at me. She didn’t know why her grandma was upset, but I was clearly responsible.

“I’m staying,” she said. “Whatever she has to say—”

“Kayla.” Paula’s voice sharpened. “Don’t take that tone with Ms. Levine, and don’t tell me what you will or won’t do. I need you to go to the store. That’s not a request.”

Kayla shot me an icy look, but she obeyed. Paula went to the front window to watch her go. I stayed in the kitchen. When she came back, she took a seat. I did the same.

“Yes, Alastair is Ginny’s father,” she said. “But I wasn’t lying when I said she didn’t know and that she didn’t have any contact with him.”

“That’s splitting a very fine hair, Ms. Thompson. You knew what I meant—was there any relationship between them? I’d consider that a relationship.”

“I wouldn’t.”

She met my eyes, with that same defiant look I’d just seen on her granddaughter. But she couldn’t hold it. After a moment, she broke off with a sigh.

“Yes, I’m sure Chief Bruyn would consider it important, too. But I didn’t.” She caught my gaze again, hers softer now. “Alastair had nothing to do with Ginny, before or after her death. He doesn’t know she’s his daughter, and I’d like to keep it that way. For Kayla’s sake.”

“Kayla?”

“I don’t want Kayla to grow up in Columbus. She needs schooling—proper schooling, with other children and a teacher who can keep up with her. I go into Battle Ground every week, trying to find work, even head into Portland now and then. But there aren’t many openings for a forty-onevear-old cleaning woman with a tenth-grade education. I’m working on my GED. When this recession ends, I’ll be ready, and we’ll get out. Until then, Kayla is stuck here. With everything she’s been through, do you really think she needs the town knowing that her grandfather is the local kook? A dirty old man with a harem?”

“But what if Alastair had something to do with Ginny’s death? I know you and Chief Bruyn don’t get along—”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t tell him. I used to clean the police station. Did reception work, too. Spent four years slapping Bruyn’s fingers off my ass, pardon my language. When I found out he was telling people we were having an affair, I quit and everyone knew why. I kept my mouth shut, but that didn’t matter. As far as he’s concerned, I made a laughingstock of him. If he could tell the town that my daughter’s daddy was the local wacko? He would have given himself heart failure racing to the diner to spread the news.”

“Well, it looks a lot more suspicious now. Especially when my leads keep taking me back to Alastair’s door.”

She shook her head. “If they are, then you’re looking at someone else in that house. Alastair is a lot of things, but he isn’t a killer.”

“You didn’t want him as the father of your daughter. And that was back when he was, by all accounts, a respectable college student. He got out of town at a damned convenient time. Are you really telling me he didn’t know he was about to be a daddy? Because I’m thinking, for a twenty-year-old guy eager to make something of himself, finding out he got a sixteen-year-old girl pregnant would be plenty of incentive to decide it was time to get the hell out of Columbus and never come back.”

She didn’t answer for a minute. Then she said, “He left before I knew I was pregnant, but I think he suspected it. We’d kept our relationship a secret. His choice. Then I started missing first class every day, sick to my stomach. I wasn’t an A student, but I didn’t skip. It was a teacher who figured out what might be wrong and persuaded me to take a pregnancy test. That was a month after I started missing classes, and three weeks after Alastair gave me the ‘I love you, but I need to grow up, move onto campus, and date girls my own age’ speech.” She gave a wry smile. “As you can tell, he never quite got to that last part.”

“So he left and never looked back. Saved himself a bundle on child support.” I looked her in the eye. “Money you could have used.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Maybe I should have asked. He’d have paid. I just—I didn’t want to share Ginny with him. I was young and I was hurt and I was stubborn. By the time things started going wrong with Ginny, Alastair was already on his third wife, so I knew there wouldn’t be any money and I couldn’t see how bringing her father into her life would help. I’d go from being the whore who got knocked up by a stranger to the bitch who’d kept her daddy away from her. I decided to stick with my first role. I was used to it.”

“So twenty-five years later Alastair returns to find his ex with a twenty-five-year-old daughter ... and doesn’t connect the dots?”

She didn’t answer. Just sat there until the oven timer chimed, took out the muffins, and began scooping them onto the cooling racks. Then she said, “I imagine the thought crossed his mind. But if he asked, then he’d have to face the truth. Alastair isn’t good at facing truths, Ms. Levine. He’s built his own world and that’s where he chooses to live, blinds drawn to the rest of the universe. In his mind, he’s still a twenty-year-old stud. Having a daughter older than the girls he beds up in that farmhouse? That wouldn’t do at all.”

She pried out a stubborn muffin. “Whatever Alastair is, he still considers himself a therapist. He thinks he’s helping those girls and I’m sure sometimes he does, and that makes him feel good. How long would those girls keep coming to him if they found out his own daughter lived a mile away, an alcoholic drug addict who lets her boyfriend use her for a punching bag? No. It wouldn’t do at all.”

Wasn’t that what we’d call motive? Alastair had himself a sweet deal here. What if Ginny figured out who Daddy was and threatened to expose him? I didn’t say that to Paula. She might not have wanted Alastair Koppel for her baby’s father, but there was obviously still something there, an exasperated affection.

When I made a move to go, though, Paula stopped me.

“Can you wait and talk to Kayla?” she asked.

“I’m not sure she wants to talk to me—”

“That’s why I’m asking. I need her to know that everything’s okay. She likes you, and you’re a good role model for her. A smart young woman working at a good job, living on her own in the city. She doesn’t see a lot of that here.”

“Um, sure. Okay.”

“I’ll get those muffins ready for you to take. Kayla really wants you to have them.”

KAYLA SHOWED UP shortly after that. Her grandma didn’t say anything, but showed by her mood and her actions that we were good, and Kayla relaxed. We talked about her homework and ate a couple of the muffins, and for the first time that day, I forgot about Michael.

It was nice that Paula thought I made a good role model for Kayla, but I couldn’t help wishing I could do more. Kayla was a bright kid. She deserved to go to college. I thought about my trust fund. Was there away to help her without insulting Paula? I’d have to think about that, ask Paige for some ideas.

I had the money. I didn’t need all of it. Maybe this was something I could do with the extra. Something good.