Murder Most Witchy (Wendy Lightower Mystery) (11 page)

Ian wasn't following, not that Wendy could blame him. “Okay,” he drew out the word.

She shook her head. The more time her theory had to percolate in her brain, the more outlandish it was sounding, even to herself. “This is crazy,” she muttered.

Ian grabbed her hand, once again enfolding her slender digits inside his own bear-like paw. He had surprisingly large hands. Wendy stared at their intertwined fingers, wondering why he seemed to be trying to hold her hand. “It helps to say it out loud,” he told her. Then he smirked, “I'll let you know if you're crazy.”

“I was looking at the pictures of some of board members in the museum.”  In her five years as head librarian, the code had never been changed; she had no reason to believe it had even been changed since the system was installed. “Nathan Braun was on the board. He would have the alarm code.”

Ian tilted his head to one side and stared earnestly at her. “Maybe you are crazy,” and he laughed as she tried, ineffectually, to punch him on the arm. “No, seriously, tell me why Braun. What has our illustrious mayor done to deserve your suspicions?”

Wendy related what she had overheard of Braun's behavior with the unidentified woman in the back of the museum. His face darkened from curious amusement at Wendy's expense into the deepest scowl she had ever seen by the time she finished the story.

“That rat,” he growled. He became thoughtful. “What is the connection to Benny?”

Wendy shrugged. “Maybe none,” she admitted. After all, she had no proof, only a flash of inspiration based on a gut feeling. “It just occurred to me that Braun has a lot to lose if anyone ever found out about his sexual harassments.” She made it plural on purpose. Given what she had heard, she was certain the night of the party wasn't the first time that Braun had put his hands where they didn't belong. “If I overheard him, someone else could find out just as easily.”

“True,” he acknowledged, but he didn't sound convinced. “You think Benny found out, and what? Threatened Braun with exposure? Blackmail?”

Wendy shook her head. “I don't know,” she sighed. Benny didn't fit her idea of a blackmailer, but then again, she hadn't known him very well. “It was just a thought.”

Ian squeezed her hand once and released it. “And it was a good one. We'll keep Braun in mind. Just be careful not to put on blinders to other theories.”

Wendy chuckled. “Another one of Gerry's mottos?”

Ian smiled. “Nope, just good common sense from yours truly. I'm thinking we should head out and talk to Benny's sister. She might be able to shed some light on a motive.”

Ian parked the car at the end of the street where Benny had lived with his sister. The street, much to Wendy's surprise, was deserted with no trucks or vans in sight.

Benny Jacobi had lived in a small, slightly run-down duplex painted a foggy white with a dull gray trim. The two sides were diametric opposites. One half had trails of brown, dying vines climbing up the exterior and empty flower beds along the walkway. The other had been carefully cleaned of all the vines, which stopped in the center of the building in a hard, unnatural line. The beds were neatly hoed in rows and the first flowers of summer were in bloom in vibrant shades of red, orange, and purple. Everything was neatly clipped and swept, and despite the poor quality of the structure, it was obvious that someone had been taking care of it.

“Left or right?” Wendy asked.

Ian consulted the notes he had jotted down at the museum. “Right,” he said, indicating the nicer of the two units.

As they walked up the path, the faded, yet neatly pressed rose printed curtains twitched to one side and a pair of inquisitive brown eyes peered out.

The woman who answered their knock was thin with long, straight hair and a pale, gaunt face. Her cheekbones stuck out from the sides of her face at sharp right angles. Her eyes, though, were bright and flitting, like a bird's.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a small, tentative voice.

Ian took the lead. “Are you Jennifer Jacobi?”

The woman flinched from his voice, even though he had spoken softly enough. Her eyes darted between them, finally landing on Wendy.

“Yes.”

Wendy could tell that this timid woman was more comfortable with her than with Ian.

“My name is Wendy Lightower. I knew Benny,” she said before Ian could speak again. Upon hearing her brother's name the woman immediately seemed calmer. “This is Ian Hart. Could we come in for a moment?”

Only her head was visible through the crack in the door. She nodded and opened the door wide enough for them to cross the threshold.

“Can I get you something? Tea?”

Wendy smiled warmly. “That would be nice, thank you.”

Jennifer left them in a tidy living room sitting on a faded chintz couch. Everything in the room looked to be second-hand or homemade, but it was all impeccably cared for. She returned carrying a wooden tray with a matched tea set arranged on its surface.

The process of pouring was rather elaborate as Jennifer asked them their preferences and presented them with little cups and saucers. When she finally sat back in her own seat with her cup comfortably settled on her knee, she appeared much more at ease.

Wendy was considering what question to ask first when Jennifer spoke.

“Benny mentioned you,” her thin lips turned up at the corners in a shy smile. “He said you were kind.”

Flustered, Wendy didn't know what to say. It had hit her more than once since his death that she hadn't known Benny nearly as well as she should have. She had seen him nearly every morning for years, and yet she didn't know much more than his name.

“He was always very friendly to me,” she hedged.

Jennifer's smile widened. “That was Benny. Kind to everyone and everything.” Her eyes were veiled with a dreamy quality as she lost herself in recollections of the brother who had been taken from her so cruelly. “I apologize,” she shook herself, “what did you want to talk to me about?”

“We wanted to ask you some questions about Benny. I know this is a difficult time for you, but we are trying to find out what happened.”

Jennifer seemed to accept this rather unusual statement at face value. “You can ask me anything.”

“Did Benny have any enemies? Was there anyone with a grudge against him?”

Jennifer shook her head. “No, like I said, he was kind to everyone. I got so mad at him sometimes, the way he let people walk all over him, but he just smiled and ignored me.”

Wendy recalled a few times where Benny had stayed on, after an overnight shift, to help move furniture, clean up after an event, and do pretty much anything that was asked of him.

“What about a girlfriend? Anyone special in his life?”

Again Jennifer shook her head. “He was shy. He had a girlfriend a while back, but it ended a long time ago. Amicably, as far as I know.”

Wendy looked around the shabby, yet well-loved space and the quiet, unobtrusive woman sitting in it and decided the rest of her questions were only a waste of time. There was no extra money here from illicit activities, and Jennifer would be unlikely to know if Benny had any bad habits that had led to his death. She talked about him like he had lived as a saint during his time on earth. For all Wendy knew, maybe he had.

There was another reason that her questions died before they left her lips, however. Jennifer's round brown orbs were trained on Wendy with trust and affection. Wendy was reluctant, so reluctant that it surprised her, to see anger or disappointment mar her placid features. She had one final question, and though she knew it was a long shot, she had to ask.

“Did you or Benny ever have any dealings with Nathan Braun?”

Jennifer seemed to shrink before her very eyes, crumpling in on herself and shielding her body with both arms. The large, bird-like eyes darted, panicked, around the room, as though looking for an escape. Her mouth moved silently, no sound issuing from between her thinly stretched lips.

Moving very slowly, Wendy placed her hand over Jennifer's. It was clear that Jennifer wasn't able to answer, but then, she didn't have to. Wendy knew the answer the moment the words had left her lips.

“It's okay,” Wendy whispered, and then she just sat there, holding the other woman's hand while her fear and anguish passed. It took several minutes for Jennifer to calm down, and Wendy was patient.

She cleared her throat as though to speak, but Wendy interrupted. “We have taken up too much of your time,” she said with meaningful look at Ian. He was watching her, an odd expression on his face, but he understood enough to not ask any questions.

“Thank you for talking to us. And for the tea,” Wendy rose from the sofa and put her
teacup on the low wooden coffee table.

Jennifer shook her hand, holding on longer than was customary to give herself more time to find her voice. “The services for Benny are on Wednesday. I know he would have liked you to be there.”

“Of course I will come,” Wendy replied, because there didn't seem to be anything else to say.

“Nice to meet you,” Ian spoke for the first time since they had entered the house.

Jennifer had recovered enough to grace them both with a wan smile. “Thank you both for coming.”

She escorted them to the door and closed it softly behind them. As the fresh air hit her lungs, Wendy breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth. The air rushed out in a long, sighing gust.

“That was more than I bargained for.” Wendy wasn't sure whether she meant the way Jennifer had known exactly who she was or her reaction to the question about Nathan Braun.

“Evidently you made something of an impression on young Benny,” Ian remarked.

Wendy slid into the passenger seat of Ian's car and closed her eyes. “I may not be cut out for this.”

Ian let his hand land lightly on her leg. “You need to stop saying that, and you definitely need to stop thinking that. You're doing great. We just need to stay focused.”

Getting his hand off her leg would be step one towards refocusing, Wendy thought. Out loud, she said, “I need something to eat, and I don't want to be around people right now. My place?”

As Ian drove back to her cottage, Wendy ruminated on what she had learned about Benny and about Braun. The more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed that Benny would be a blackmailer. Jennifer had seemed so convinced that her brother was an all around nice guy with no enemies and no faults.

Ian shot surreptitious glances in her direction as they drove through town back to Wendy's house. She was lost in her own thoughts and hardly noticed their progress until Ian pulled to a stop in her driveway.

“Here we are,” he announced after he put the car in park and she still hadn't moved.

“Hm?” Wendy looked up and saw that she was home. “Oh, great,” she sounded distracted.

Ian followed her inside, though she hadn't actually invited him in. “Are you going to share?”

Wendy looked around her kitchen, giving some small portion of her brain towards what they were going to eat. “I have some things for sandwiches,” she began.

Ian laughed. “Not the food. Are you going to share what you're thinking about?”

Wendy sighed. She didn't particularly enjoy the thoughts that were rattling around inside her mind. It occurred to her that she hadn't had such negative thoughts when she was just a librarian. “I was thinking about the way that Jennifer reacted to hearing Braun's name. There's no doubt that something happened between them. I would even go as far as to guess that Jennifer hadn't been an enthusiastic participant.”

Watching her, Ian nodded but didn't interrupt, which she appreciated.

“What if Benny knew? If he knew that Braun had taken advantage of his sister somehow, then he could have been killed when he threatened to go public.”

Wendy was infused with a deep sadness. This theory, unlike the Benny as blackmailer idea, fit into everything she had seen of both men. She could easily imagine Benny as being incensed on his sister's behalf, demanding justice, and getting himself killed instead.

Before he answered, Ian went into her kitchen and returned with two glasses of red wine. Wendy was surprised that it didn't feel like an intrusion or even at all presumptuous that he served the both of them without asking her. In fact, she liked it.

“Thanks,” she smiled as he handed her the glass.

Ian took a sip, rolling the wine around his mouth with unexpected appreciation. It was a good bottle of wine, but she hadn't really expected him to notice.

“I agree,” he said suddenly. “Braun is our most likely suspect.
His track record combined with Jennifer's apparent connection to him provided a pretty strong motive. Now we just need to find out whether he has the magical skills to carry out the murder.”

She couldn't help it; Wendy laughed. It was absolutely the most inappropriate response to what he had said, but the laughter bubbled up and out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Surprisingly, Ian didn't look offended, just curious. “What is funny about that?”

Wendy subsided from laughter into tiny hiccups, taking a long drink of wine before answering. Her words were still breathy as she answered, “It's just so ridiculous. Here we are, sitting on my vintage couch, sipping a very expensive bottle of red wine, and talking about murder by magic.” She stopped talking and looked down at her lap, suddenly feeling contrite. “I suppose it's not that funny, is it?”