Halfway Hexed (26 page)

“Okay,” she said cheerfully, “but just remember that if your property goes on the market late, the buying frenzy may be over, and you won’t be able to get the best price. Just today I’ve gotten two new listings. It’s going to become a buyers’ market soon, and I just want you to have all the information you need. They were specifically interested in your house, or I wouldn’t be here. It’s a good opportunity for you to get—”

“Not. For. Sale. And you shouldn’t be rushing into any sales between townspeople and out-of-town visitors. I’ve heard those out-of-towners don’t have nearly the capital they pretend to,” I said, though I hadn’t heard any such thing. I figured that since she was in sales, she wouldn’t want buyers who couldn’t buy.

“Uh-huh. Well, I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but the bank they’re using in Dallas confirmed that ten million dollars was wired from London. Now, would you mind if I took a quick peek inside your house? I’m interested in how the renovations are coming along.”

“Yes, I would mind,” I said, blocking her way. I gave her arm a tug to turn her around. I pointed down the driveway to where I assumed she’d parked her car. “Go on now.”

She clucked her tongue in disappointment and stalked off.

I climbed in my car and had just about made it off my street when someone tapped my back bumper with their car. Probably Marsha. I knew there couldn’t be much damage, so I just waved a hand out the window in a “Don’t worry about it” gesture. Apparently though whoever it was did want to worry about it because she followed me. Not an easy task in the foggy dark.

When I finally pulled over, I kept a sharp eye on the rearview mirror. The moment I saw Lucy and Jenna Reitgarten emerge, I put my foot back on the gas pedal. I zoomed around the corner with a white-knuckle grip.

Flipping my high beams on and off, I barreled along to the main intersection. I couldn’t see anyone coming in the crosswise traffic, but then I couldn’t see ten feet in front of me. I held my breath and made the turn.

I exhaled and slowed down, not wanting to come up on another car too fast to stop. I shook my head. It was hard having a high-speed chase while going only five miles per hour, but there it was.

I looked in my rearview for headlights, but didn’t see any. Then I heard metal crumpling. I jumped at the sound, but my car kept driving smoothly ahead. The crash was behind me.

Lucy and Jenna. Well, that’s what they got for coming after me.

I wondered who they’d run into. For some reason, I pictured it being a police car full of deputies coming to get me for questioning. I pictured them comparing notes with the Reitgartens and coming to the conclusion that I was a public menace. I shuddered. A vivid imagination . . . not always a good thing.

I only went down a few blocks on Main Street before pulling into the parking lot of the ice cream shop, which was closed for winter. I maneuvered my car behind a Dumpster for maximum camouflage and popped the trunk. Retrieving the big box, I opened it and peered inside. A pair of old spellbooks. My heart raced. Family spellbooks. Finally!

I took out the top one, fingering the brown leather cover with the gold
M
embossed on it in fancy script. I opened it and scanned the pages. There were recipes and spells for truth serum, sleep serum, and memor y-enhancement serum. Spells for finding things and for cloaking things. Potions for good luck, bad luck, a flawless complexion, silky hair, and seventeen different protection spells to guard against all kinds of dangers. And not once did a spell call for anything impossible to come by like the tooth of a beheaded monarch or a chunk of chain mail as my medieval spellbook often did. At the top of each page was the name of the spell and the initials of the witch who’d written and perfected it. Occasionally there were handwritten notations and addendums.

I set the book on the passenger seat and looked in the box at the other book. The custom cover had two large letters in fancy script. They were intertwined.
L
and
E
. Lenore and Edie. My heart sped up. Aunt Mel had sent me Edie’s very own book. Edie must have known, must have agreed to let me use it. That made me feel as good as Merc with a mouthful of lizard.

I flipped it open and found flowers pressed into the opening pages. Poetry and verses from their favorite writers. Photographs. At first I thought it was just a scrapbook, but then I realized that each page contained a concealed pocket. I drew out the hidden contents, one by one.

All sorts of spells for generating power and doing various things . . . the most important of which were the ones for conjuring spirits, doing glamours, seeing into the future, and attaching a soul to a beloved object.

I hugged the book to me. Getting family spells was as exciting as finding buried treasure, and I suddenly knew how I was going to search John Barrett’s room without tripping the security wards. I was going to get him to invite me in.

Chapter 25

A nagging little voice reminded me that I’d seen Lennox Lyons in that last vision, too, and that there had been blood on his door handle. A part of me argued that searching his place would be easier. I could probably find a spare key to the guesthouse somewhere in the main one, and if the security guys caught me, I could always just tell Bryn the truth. I winced. That was the problem. I didn’t want Lennox to be guilty of killing Gwen or, worse, of having something to do with Cassandra’s death. How much would that hurt Bryn? So maybe I’d come up with some other excuse, but at least I needed to know the truth myself.

I went to Br yn’s mansion. Security Pete told me that John Barrett and Mrs. Thornton had been by, but when he’d told them that we weren’t home, they’d left.

I found spare keys for the guesthouse in a kitchen drawer and slipped them into my pocket. I picked up the security phone and got the phone number for the guesthouse from Pete. I didn’t tell him why I wanted it, and he didn’t ask. It was pretty convenient, his seeming to be willing to let me do whatever I wanted.

When I called, Lennox answered on the third ring.

‟Hello? Lennox?”

‟Speaking,” he said.

‟It’s Tammy Jo Trask.”

‟And?”

‟Bryn needs your help at the Corsic Creek Bridge.” I hoped sending him across town would give me enough time to do a proper search.

‟What sort of help? And why there?”

I chewed on my lip. “He didn’t tell me.”

‟And you have no idea what’s happening?”

‟Nope.”

‟Hmm.”

‟So are you going to help him or what?” I asked impatiently.

“I suppose I will.”

‟Don’t sound worried or anything. He’s just your son, after all.”

Lennox hung up on me.

‟Jerk,” I mumbled, putting the receiver down a little too hard. ‟Sorry, phone. Shouldn’t bang the messenger.”

I waited until I saw Lennox’s car leave the property before I hurried along the path with a flashlight. The fog would delay his progress to the bridge. I’d have plenty of time. And luckily Bryn was the one who did the wards on the property, not Lennox, so I wouldn’t have to worry about tripping them.

I got to the house and unlocked the door, going inside. It smelled faintly of chicory and woodsmoke. He’d had another fire burning recently and this one in the house. I checked through the fireplace ashes, but didn’t find anything.

I started with Lennox’s room. If I were going to hide a brooch with my dead wife in it, I’d keep it as close to me as possible. His bed linens were rumpled. I pulled them off and made the bed piece by piece to be sure that the brooch wasn’t hidden in the covers.

Then I rifled through the drawers. Nada. On the bedside table, there was an empty glass with a little whiskey left in it and a framed wedding picture lying on its back. I picked it up. Lennox in a black tuxedo and Cassandra in a white wedding gown with tons of lace. They looked really young and really happy, each with beaming white smiles.

“Find what you’re looking for, Nancy Drew?”

I jumped and spun around to find Lennox in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded, standing the picture on the bedside table.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” he asked.

“I’m searching this house,” I said. “I thought it would be less awkward if you were gone, but whatever.” I wasn’t going to act embarrassed or guilty. Lennox Lyons was a half-assed father and a thief. It had only been a couple of weeks since he’d almost gotten me killed. What’s more, I’d helped save his life. “You didn’t even want to check to see if Bryn needed you? You don’t even care?”

“If Bryn needed me, he would’ve called himself or given you a code word that would’ve let me know what was needed.”

“Oh,” I said, going to the closet and opening the door. Lennox put a hand out and shut it forcefully.

“Last night, you had blood on your hands and probably burned bloody clothes. Did you kill Gwen?”

He looked surprised for a moment and then said, “Did you?”

“No, why would I?”

“Why would I?”

“I think you wanted something that she had. Something that used to belong to Cassandra.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Either you know, and I don’t need to tell you. Or you don’t know, and you’re better off not knowing.”

He grabbed my arms and squeezed them tight. “You will tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Did you kill Gwen?”

“No. When I got there, she was already dead. Your turn,” he said.

“I think she had a brooch that used to belong to your wife.”

He let go of my arms with a little shove to push me away from him. “How?”

“Nope, your turn first. Why did you go to see Gwen?”

Lennox rolled his eyes. “To help my son. Gwen was still in love with him. That could’ve been an advantage during the investigation, but I knew he wouldn’t seduce her with you turning up like a bad penny every five minutes.”

“So what were you going to do? Promise to help her get rid of me?”

He clucked his tongue. “My turn to ask a question. Where would Gwen have gotten Cassie’s brooch from?”

“She stole it from me, and before you ask, I don’t know who sent it to me. It came from London. Did Cassandra know John Barrett?”

Lennox shrugged. “Sure. Her family was well connected and so was his, but after she met me, she didn’t spend much time with her old set.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted her all to myself.”

Selfish, that sounded like the Lennox I knew. “How did you meet?”

“We were both musicians.”

I raised my eyebrows.

“She was classically trained as a cellist and was an excellent composer. She had broad tastes in music and came to a club where my band was playing. A witch and a wizard in a small space. We couldn’t help but notice each other.”

“Did you fall in love right away?”

‟No, of course not. I was a cynic and an up-and-coming rock star. She said at least eight words before I made up my mind about her.”

I smiled. ‟What were they?”

‟That’s a lovely guitar. Must you mistreat it?”

I laughed softly. “She was wonderful?”

Pain crinkled the skin around his eyes. “She was . . . none of your business,” he said.

‟She’s my business. I didn’t ask for her to be, but she is.” I paused, then added, “I saw her ghost, and she asked for my help.”

‟Bollocks.”

I drew my brows together in confusion.

‟That means I don’t believe you. You didn’t see her. No one has seen her spirit since the night it left her body.”

In that moment, I knew that Bryn wasn’t the only Lyons who’d tried to see Cassandra again. “I think that’s because someone bound her spirit. Probably with a spell that specifically blocks the people that loved her from finding her.”

‟Bryn would’ve broken through it. You have no idea the kind of things he was willing to do to get to her.”

‟So whoever did the binding was really powerful. Like maybe John Barrett. Did Barrett live in Revelworth at the time that she was murdered there?”

‟The murder was solved. There was a magical trail, thick as paste. She’d been there seeing her family and her former teachers. Extremely brilliant and powerful people. If there had been any doubt, any possibility of another person being involved, it would’ve been found. They loved her, and they were bloodthirsty in their pursuit of justice.”

‟Where were you when she died?”

There was a haunted look in his eyes. ‟What does it matter where I was? Not there,” he spat. ‟But I don’t take responsibility for her dying alone. It was Cassie and her family who decided she would visit while I was on the road. We fought about it, but she insisted on the timing. She could be so stubborn. I think she thought it would be easier to go on her own. So I finally agreed. I sent them my wife, and they let her get butchered.” His voice was raw, like someone had dragged a grater down his throat.

“It must have been very hard for you,” I whispered.

He walked down the hall to the liquor cabinet and swigged from a bottle. I trailed after him.

“Lennox, I’m sorry.”

“Just go away.”

He was in pain. Since I couldn’t help, I left him alone with it.