I Will Fear No Evil (Psalm 23 Mysteries Book 10) (6 page)

Jeremiah reached down to stroke his head, noticing that the dog’s shoulder muscles were bunched tightly. A low rumbling came from his chest.

“What is it, boy?” Jeremiah asked softly.

Captain growled again.

Jeremiah turned and took stock of their surroundings. They seemed to be alone in this section of the park and behind them he didn’t see the lights anymore. He reached out with his senses, trying to figure out what Captain was seeing or smelling that was making him uneasy. There was nothing, though, that he could tell.

“Time to go,” Jeremiah said, angling across the park on the shortest route to the car. Captain kept pace with him, head swiveling constantly. They were almost there when the hair on the back of Jeremiah’s neck stood up suddenly.

He stopped and turned quickly, half thinking there was someone behind him. Only darkness met his probing eyes, but the feeling of being watched intensified. Captain growled loudly and the sound ruptured the silence. The effect was to put Jeremiah even more on edge.

He turned even though every instinct told him that he was turning his back to danger. There was nothing he could detect, though. He forced himself to make it the last little way to the car. Once inside he locked the doors and waited for a moment, half-expecting to see a figure emerge from the darkness.

Nothing.

And that unnerved him like few other things could.

“I’m being paranoid,” he said out loud. He couldn’t make himself believe it, though. He knew, he felt in his gut, there was something lurking in the darkness that could see him even if he couldn’t see it.

Mark was standing in the middle of his sister-in-law’s bedroom trying to figure out what he was doing there. Her roommate, Michelle, was standing in the doorway looking anxious.

“It’s been a week since you’ve seen Lizzie?” he asked.

She nodded, a lock of purple hair falling into her eyes.

“And how long have you gone without seeing her before?”

“Two, three days at the most.”

There were no obvious signs of a struggle in the room. “Was there any suspicious activity, unlocked doors, tipped over furniture, strangers lurking around?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“So, what makes you think something happened to her and she’s just not on vacation or she met a new guy or something?” It was the politest way he could think to phrase it. He had volunteered to come over and check things out, although the look that Traci had given him before he left the house he had translated as “go over there or die”. Now that he was here he was both relieved and frustrated to discover that there really wasn’t anything to see.

He opened her closet and saw clothes hanging in neat rows. “Does she have a suitcase she normally uses when she’s going to be away?”

“I’m not sure,” Michelle admitted. “But she would have told me if she was going to be gone.”

He closed the door and turned to look at her. “Were the two of you close?”

He winced when he realized he had used the past tense, making it sound like Lizzie was dead.
Too many years of interviewing friends and families of murder victims.

“Not overly.”

“Would she have told you if she was in some sort of trouble?”

“I don’t know. I would hope so.”

Mark nodded his head. The real answer was probably not. Most people got amazingly tight-lipped when they should be telling everyone that they thought they were in trouble.

“What about her coven? Maybe one of them would know where she is.”

Michelle shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do you have a name or phone number for any of the other members?”

“No, she was always really weird, paranoid almost, about talking about the others. She would never say anyone’s name but she’d call them different things if she wanted to talk about one of them.”

“What would she call them?”

“Creepy tall guy, sweaty fat dude, sweater girl, trust fund brat, freaky eyes.”

“Freaky eyes?” Mark questioned.

“Yeah, apparently they were some weird color, although I’m not sure what.”

“And she talked about these people a lot?”

“Yeah, she hasn’t talked about sweaty fat dude or sweater girl for a while, but the other three all the time.”

“What else would she say about her coven?”

“Not a lot. She was pretty tight-lipped. I mean, in the beginning she would gush about how wonderful it was and all the cool things she could do. She kept trying to get me to go to one of their meetings or circles or whatever.”

“Did you?”

“No way. I was not into that,” Michelle said emphatically.

“So when did she start talking less about what they did?”

“Gosh, almost two years, I guess. Somewhere in there.”

“Anything else happen at that time?” Mark asked.

“She had broken up with the guy she was dating and she was pretty upset. She was constantly raving that he was going to get what was coming to him and that no one could treat her that way and get away with it. Honestly, she started freaking me out.”

“Then why didn’t you move out?”

“Because I can’t afford a place on my own and I didn’t want her to catch me looking for a new roommate in case she’d somehow accuse me of betraying her then. Just when it was getting really bad, though, it all of a sudden stopped. That’s when she became a lot quieter and didn’t talk about the circles and the things they did even though she still mentioned some of the people. I was just relieved that she seemed to have gotten over it or whatever.”

“What was her boyfriend’s name?” Mark asked.

Michelle shook her head. “She always just called him by nicknames, like my sweetie or jerk face.”

“Helpful,” Mark said with a sigh. “You say you don’t actually know the names of any of her coven members. Do you have any idea where they held their meetings?”

Michelle nodded. “She told me, in case I ever decided to drop by. They hold them in the park downtown near the really tall Redwood tree. They liked to be outdoors as long as the weather held.”

“Do you know when these meetings occurred?”

“I know for a long time they met at least twice a month. They liked to meet on the nights of the full moon and the new moon. Lately, though, it seemed like she’d been going more often, maybe once a week, but I’m not sure on what day. It seemed to vary.”

“Okay, can you show me which bathroom was hers?”

Michelle nodded and he followed her out of the room and to the bathroom just down the hall.

“This one is Lizzie’s. I have my own,” Michelle offered.

After a quick thirty second inspection Mark relaxed. He should have started with this room first and it would have saved him a lot of time.

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” he said.

“Why?”

“There’s no toothbrush or toothpaste. Wherever she is, she planned to be gone.”

Uncertainty flickered across Michelle’s face. In that moment it was easy to see her real concern and unease over the entire situation.

“She’ll probably turn up in a couple of days and tell you all about her little vacation,” Mark said.

Slowly Michelle shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she murmured.

“Why not?”

The girl hesitated, biting her lower lip for a moment. Finally she answered him. “I’ve got this bad feeling, like in the pit of my stomach. I keep thinking something’s wrong and that she’s in danger. Last night I had a dream that…it doesn’t matter.”

“Do you often get these kinds of bad feelings?” Mark asked, watching her expression closely.

“Not very often, but when I do…I’ve never been wrong,” she said, fear flickering in her eyes.

As a detective Mark had learned long ago to trust his gut. Sometimes you couldn’t explain how or why you knew something, you just did. Since he’d had those experiences he was always loathe to dismiss it when others told him that they felt something in their gut. Sometimes they were wrong, but it never hurt to pay attention.

He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. She jerked slightly and for a split second he felt like his hand was tingling.

“I’ll do what I can to find her,” he said.

Michelle nodded.

He removed his hand and got a business card out of his pocket. He handed it to her. “If you think of anything or hear anything, call me right away, any hour. Understood?”

“Yes,” she said as she took the card.

“We will find her,” he reaffirmed.

“Thank you.”

When he left a minute later he wasn’t entirely sure what to think. All he really knew was that he’d be no good to anyone if he didn’t go home and get some sleep. He called Traci and filled her in. No need to keep her waiting and worrying while he drove home. She sounded slightly relieved when he told her about the missing toothbrush and he intentionally omitted Michelle’s gut instinct that something was wrong. Given how strongly Traci had reacted earlier to hearing about his latest case he didn’t want to add fuel to the fire of her worry. At least, not until he was convinced that they actually had something to worry about.

Like most people Cindy had never been a fan of needles, but she had been able to tolerate them. After today she was sure she never wanted to see another needle again for as long as she lived. After explaining to her doctor what had happened to her the day before she had been subjected to several dozen needle pricks all over her back with various possible allergens on them.

Now she was laying on her stomach, waiting for the doctor to return and tell her what she was allergic to. There had to be something because she did feel a distinct itchy sensation on one part of her back and another spot felt like it was on fire. Finally the door opened and the doctor came in.

Cindy waited impatiently while he examined her. After what seemed like forever he cleaned her back with some cotton balls dipped in alcohol.

“Okay, you can go ahead and put your shirt on. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes to discuss the results,” he said.

As soon as the door had closed Cindy put her clothes back on. A minute later he was back, chart in hand.

“The good news is, you don’t appear to have many allergies. In fact there were only two things you reacted to. You had a minor reaction to ragweed. That’s pretty common. The other reaction you had was much more significant and it was to acacia.”

“Acacia? As in the tree?”

“Yes, it’s an invasive species and is far more prevalent in the San Francisco Bay Area, but you can find it several places along the coast.”

“When I had the allergy attack or whatever it was yesterday we were in a basement,” Cindy said.

“It’s possible it was growing outside and that you were exposed on your way in. Some cultures also burn it as incense.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” she asked.

“I’m fairly confident. You had a very strong reaction to it just now. The ragweed reaction wasn’t strong enough to cause an incident like what you’re describing, but it’s possible the acacia could have. We could do another battery of tests, delving more into food allergies and the like, but you said you hadn’t eaten for several hours before the attack and that you ate what you usually do at breakfast.”

She nodded.

“I’m going to prescribe a rescue inhaler, in case you ever have that strong a reaction again. If you do, call me and come in for another exam. If it’s severe go to the emergency room. Severe allergies can become life threatening under the right circumstances.”

“How come I’ve never had a problem before?”

“It’s possible that until now you’ve only had very light exposure, if any. It’s also possible that you did have a reaction but just put it down to hay fever or a cold or something of that nature.”

“I guess I just thought if I had a severe allergy it would have been more obvious years ago.”

“It’s also possible the allergy is a newer one or that it has increased in severity over time.”

Cindy couldn’t think of anything else to say. It didn’t entirely make sense to her that all the symptoms she had experienced were the result of a tree allergy. What else could she say to the doctor, though? It wasn’t like he could do a skin test to see if she was allergic to evil plain and simple.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You can go ahead and take an over-the-counter antihistamine for relief if minor symptoms spring up.”

Half an hour later Cindy was back at work after dropping off her prescription at the pharmacy. She was just outside the office when she heard someone shout her name. She turned and saw Wildman running toward her, holding his hands out in front of him in an awkward manner.

“I need help,” he called.

“With what?”

He didn’t answer, but a moment later he was close enough that she could see why he was holding his hands out in front of him.

They were covered in blood.