The Mud Peddler

By D. E. Hemann

Life begins to get off center for Celina Cabot who, while dealing with normal life upheavals such as moving into a new home, opening a new gallery, and dumping a sticky boyfriend, finds herself suspected of embezzlement and murder.
When her ex-boss' body is discovered in a make-shift coffin under a pile of pippins, all fingers point in her direction. After all, Celina had threatened him the day he disappeared and only she had access to the missing money. How else could she afford her new venture?

Celina has to stay ahead of a sleazy deputy who wants her and a homicide detective who wants her behind bars. Even an overly-attentive P.I. has her under surveillance.

Forced to find the greedy killer herself, Celina must find answers to unknown questions. Along the way she learns more than she ever wanted to know about her dunted ex-coworkers, her ex-boss'
bizarre life, and herself.

After being stalked, shot at, and pushed down an elevator shaft, Celina, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and torn jeans, races to stop the crazed lunatic before another victim ends up buried in a bin full of apples.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. E. Hemann
• Release date: Oct 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301842681

D. E. Hemann

D. E. Hermann is a ceramic artist and writer who has lived in the Shenandoah Valley for over 30 years. Her office and studio are in a refurbished barn behind their home in Shepherdstown, West Virginia, where she shares her life with her husband, dogs, cats, hedgehog, a flock of hens, and assorted visiting wildlife.She uses her maiden name as an author, but Denise Kupiszewski is the artist and potter at The Mud Peddler studio. When she is not at her laptop or in the studio, she enjoys traveling to Maine, coastal South Carolina, and “visiting any coastline I can spend time beach-combing and listening to the waves.”She is happy to correspond at [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1

~One wonders what would happen in a society in which there were no rules to break. Doubtless everyone would quickly die of boredom. ~ Susan Howatch

Throwing a pot that was going to be stuffed with the cremated remains of my next-door neighbor’s ex-husband wasn’t high on my list of favorite things to make on the wheel. I hadn’t known the dearly departed and barely knew his weepy widow. But now that I am self-employed, I can’t turn down special requests. Besides, the poor woman had shown up at my doorstep in tears and with cash in hand.

As I pulled on the clay to bring up the urn wall, I tried not to think of death and funerals. It’s just a lidded crock. A covered vessel. Soon to be filled with bits of bones, teeth and ashes and sealed in a tomb forever.

I measured the finished pot’s gallery for the lid that would be thrown next and shooed away the morbid thoughts. Focus on the positive. Seventy-five dollars was going into my fledgling business account. The years of being a weekend basement potter were over. In a week, I’d be moved into my new house with a bright studio and sales room. Smiling to myself, I popped the bat off the wheel as the phone rang.

Your final check is still here. Where do I send it? Brandi Reynolds wasted no words on a greeting. She was one of the bimbettes that served as window dressing in the front office where I had worked.

I’ll pick it up. I can be stingy with sentences too. It wasn’t worth wasting any with Brandi anyway. Shortly after starting to work for the Valley Apple Storage Company, I came in after lunch one afternoon to find her rifling through my tote bag. She didn’t even have the decency to blush. She put the bag down and returned to her desk. Neither of us said a thing. Seven years since, we only exchanged words when we had to. And I never left any personal things at my desk again.

Just give me your new address.

No, I’ll come get it tomorrow. I hung up without another word. I had been a quiet, shy, divorcée when I’d taken the job. Years of working with a staff of backstabbing slackers had earned me some thicker skin.

My letter of resignation cited my differences in moral latitude with some of the staff and complete disagreement with my supervisor’s managerial style. Edward ‘Mac’ Macowsky, said supervisor, was less than pleased.

He had always been a pain in the neck to work with. In those last days, my opinion lowered considerably. The months’ notice stretched to almost seven weeks. Training replacements who would leave after realizing how much work was involved, an almost endless barrage of inane reports, and my work ethic and loyalty, had kept me around longer than I wanted to stay. My upper lip curled inward from just thinking about the place.

I finished throwing the lid, set the bat next to the pot, covered both with a large piece of dry cleaner’s plastic to keep them from drying too fast, and headed upstairs. Bailey and Elwood, my corgi pup and marmalade tabby, each greeted me with all the enthusiasm displayed by any creature who knows it’s about to get fed.

When their faces were buried in their bowls, the phone rang again.

This time my Hello got:

Just give me your new address and I’ll send your check.

Brandi, I told you I’d pick it up tomorrow.

I might not be here.

So what? Leave it with Norma. Norma Greenberg and I had shared an office.

Silence.

What’s the big deal, Brandi?

Fine. Click.

My eyes rolled. There was no real reason I didn’t want her to have my new address. I was just being perverse. Still, it puzzled me why she was so interested in knowing where I was moving. Mac was probably behind it. They were probably planning to egg the place. It would fit with their sophomoric senses of humor.

The next morning, I woke at dawn-thirty, and the subject had been forgotten altogether. There was little about that job or the people there that I cared to commit to long term memory. But the morning arrived with a few more serious issues to ponder. They came in uniforms and heavy accessory belts. Accessories like holstered guns and handcuffs.

The Sandman had done his job well, because it took a couple moments for the pounding on the front door and the dog’s barking to wake me. In a haze, I opened the door to four stern deputies. The one with a well-used gym membership introduced himself, explained their visit, and asked something. I gave an answer that dispersed three of the men in different directions.

Bailey began tugging the muscular deputy’s shoelace.

He looked down at her, then back at me. He did not look pleased.

I scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom. Elwood followed and I left both inside. Having caught a glimpse of my reflection, I raked my fingers through my hair. This morning it chose to inflict me with a half-Bozo/half-Mohawk style.

Standing again in front of my visitor, I forced myself to process his news: Mac was missing, and his car was found in the overgrowth at the front of my property.

The deputy asked something.

I heard him, but the question got tangled and lost in a knot of thoughts and questions of my own.

Ms. Cabot? prompted the intimidating figure in front of me. Would you please answer my question?

I looked at Deputy Banks’ chiseled face framed by a high and tight military crew-cut and tried to remember what he’d asked. Stalling for time, I mindlessly asked, Are you sure it was Mac’s car?

Deputy Banks didn’t look the type to suffer fools lightly.

Focus and center, girl. I was reeling.

When was the last time you saw Edward Macowsky, ma’am?

I—the last day I worked at the Storage. It was a Tuesday, three weeks ago.

You’re sure about that?

My stomach muscles constricted with anxiety. Over his shoulder, I stared at the sheriff’s department cruisers parked in the driveway. Moments ago, I’d given permission for the men to search the barn and sheds around back. Another deputy was checking out the basement.

Yes, I’m sure. Mac was…upset. I walked out of the office after we’d argued. ‘Upset’ was putting it mildly. He had been frothing at the mouth with anger.

Heavy footsteps announced the return of deputy number 2 climbing the basement steps behind us.

Nothing! There’s some pottery stuff down there by the walk-out door, but that’s it. The rest of the rooms look sterilized. All the carpets and every wall and floor has been cleaned or wiped down, the heavier man announced, puffing for air. Looks recent, too he added with a suspicious glance at me.

The cleaning service was here yesterday afternoon, I explained.

Both stared at me.

I—I’m moving out! I had the carpets shampooed.

The two faces had a ‘yeah-sure’ look on them.

The movers came yesterday too, I offered, waving my arms at the absence of furnishings in the empty house. My voiced had gone up an octave with each sentence. It had been a circus here the day before. The moving company was first, they were gone just half an hour before the cleaning team came, followed by the lawn care service, both of which finished around mid-afternoon just as the carpet and tile cleaners showed up. Mac could have danced through naked and I would not have noticed.

What’s the name of the cleaning service? Banks asked in a cold voice.

I gave it to him along with the moving company’s.

When was Mr. Macowsky here?

Mac? Never.

Why do you suppose his car was found out front?

I have no idea. Maybe he was in an accident? My hands wove a basket of fingers.

The deputies looked at each other, and Banks asked, Why would you say that?

I don’t know. A sliver of irritation was growing with their Sergeant Friday/Officer Gannon/Dragnet routine. Maybe he ran out of gas?

Sounds from the back door announced the return of the other two deputies. Bailey chose that moment to begin barking from behind the bathroom door.

Pastures and lawns are all recently mowed, no signs of foot tracks anywhere, reported deputy number 3 from behind mirrored aviator glasses.

Barn doesn’t look as if it’s been used for a couple of years, but someone raked the dirt floor not long ago. Both sheds are empty too. Deputy 4 looked at me with a scowl on his face as he reported his findings to Banks.

Ms. Cabot, did you sweep out the barn?

Yes, a couple of days ago. I want to leave everything looking nice for the people who bought the place.

Not many people take the time to rake out a barn.

Well, I do—did.

Deputy Banks narrowed his eyes and stared at me.

And you didn’t see anyone or anything unusual while you were mowing?

Maybe it was the absurdity of the scene: I was wearing a flannel nightgown printed with smiling moons peeking from behind fluffy clouds while standing in front of four serious men in crisp uniform. Ridiculously immature bunny slippers completed my ensemble. Maybe it was the peevishness of having slept on the floor last night, and the fact I didn’t have any coffee in me yet. Maybe it was because I really had to pee and wanted these guys out of here.

Whatever it was, I had an inappropriate thought. My brain chose that moment to rerun a snippet of Stephen King’s movie Misery, and I chuckled to myself. These AADD thoughts of mine are not often a problem, as long as I don’t voice them. Now unwisely, though lately not uncharacteristically, I voiced mine.

I blurted out, What do you think? That I found Mac wandering the pasture in a daze and bopped him on the head? Please! The thought was absurd. Like there’s any reason to keep Mac around! Yikes, shut up! Commence backpedaling: And I don’t know where he is or why his car is out front. Maybe he hit a deer? Maybe someone saw him drive off the road and helped him to the hospital?

Deputy 4 barked, The keys are in the ignition, the tank is almost full, and there is no sign of an accident. It was pushed into the ditch where it rolled on its side hidden from the road, right in front of your place, lady! He was shorter than the other three uniforms, had a thick black mustache and the face of an angry Rottweiler at the end of a short leash.

I froze. A wave of nausea swept over me.

Banks shot number 4 a look. Like robots in unison, deputies 2 and 3 did the same. Down, boy!

With narrowed eyes back on me, Banks asked coldly, Why did you quit your job?

Because Mac became a colossal jerk. Mac kept adding to my workload and it got to the point that I was doing the payroll on my own time. Plus, I was ready to start my own business. In a way, Mac had done me a favor; his irrationality had shaken me out of the rut I’d been in for years. But Mac grew to be cruel as well. Shame kept me from mentioning this now.

For several months before I had finally left, Mac relished the opportunities to be insulting and mean. While a few others were also showered with his tirades of insolence, I was his usual target. My plain looks, weight, glasses and hearing loss gave him a lot to work with.

The four men’s silent stares prompted me to continue. So, I gave notice. My last day there is the last time I saw Mac and it’s the last I ever hope to see of him. Will I ever learn to think before I speak?

Any other reasons you walked out?

I shook my head.

He looked at his notepad. You were angry with Mr. Macowsky when you left?

It was more of a statement than a question. The tone was intimidating. My heart was racing, and my fingers were well on the way to looking like pretzel factory rejects.

Yes, officer. And I threatened him, said he’d get his comeuppance one day. Told him off. Called him names behind his back. Oh, and since I blew up at him in front of my stunned coworkers, you’ll have plenty of witnesses who’ll tell you Mac was at the top of my hit list.

The office staff, including that witch Brandi, heard me more than once wish Mac would be abducted by space aliens, or go for a swim with hungry piranhas. But I wouldn’t intentionally hurt the guy, or anyone else for that matter. I certainly wouldn’t have left his car out in front of my house if I had. Even so, in some dark recess of my mind, I was either feeling a sense of misplaced guilt or celebrating the little tyrant’s misfortune. Or both.

They were waiting for my answer.

He’d tossed a magazine at me, slammed a door in my face, then later, threw and scattered some fifty pages of a report he wasn’t happy with. Yes, I was upset with him.

In the short silence that followed, I asked, How was the car found? I mean, if it was hidden from the road?

An anonymous call. Banks had been jotting notes throughout. Now he flipped a couple of pages back and asked, You mowed the property recently, yet you claim you didn’t see the car. Your mower would have passed within twenty feet of it.

I didn’t mow. All four men snapped as if I’d been caught in a lie. "No, I mean I didn’t mow. It was a mowing service. They were here yesterday afternoon. Maybe one of them called it in?"

Call came in the morning.

If Mac left his car there yesterday morning—

He was last seen three weeks ago. Tuesday evening.

The day I walked out wishing him an express trip to hell.

Oh. A memory cell in my head raised its hand. Wait a minute. Mac has gone missing before. Last year he took off to Cancun for four days without telling anybody. We found out later he’d been keeping in touch with Brandi Reynolds, one of the receptionists at the Storage company. She told us he’d had an argument with his wife and wanted to get away to cool down. Banks scribbled away. I didn’t add that everyone suspected the two of them of having an affair and it being the cause of the argument. According to Brandi herself, the reason she hadn’t joined Mac in Cancun was because he wouldn’t pay for her flight.

You were in charge of payroll?

Payroll and personnel bookkeeping.

There’s a report of money missing from the company. I guess you don’t know anything about that either? Scorn dripped.

What? No, of course not. The petty cash is always in the safe. Only Norma and Mac have the combination—

Not petty cash. He didn’t offer anything more.

Oh. More to myself than to the deputy I added, It doesn’t seem right that Mac would leave without letting someone know where he was, not for this long anyway. Mac thought he was too important to the company to be gone for more than a few days at a time. And why hadn’t Brandi mentioned it?

Your new address? asked deputy Banks, as if I hadn’t said anything.

I gave him the Shepherdstown, West Virginia, address.

Phone number?

None. Not yet. I mean, I have one here, but it’s going to be turned off tomorrow when I leave. I still have to call the phone company for new land line service in the new house.

The pen scratched on his pad. With what looked to me like a smirk, he asked, Cell?

Don’t have one. Well, I had one. But I don’t know where it is.

Banks looked at me as if he didn’t believe me. Pretty much like he’d been looking at me since he walked in. I wasn’t helping matters sounding like a nattering idiot.

My fun-house image was reflected in Deputy 2’s aviators. There was a sneer on his mug too. Deputy 3 was looking at me with narrowed eyes over the top of his sunglasses. Mirrored aviators must be issued with their uniforms.

Their silence was worrying.

Actually, I think I packed it. I hadn’t seen my cell phone for a couple of weeks.

Describe it.

The cell phone? It’s a flip style. I gave him the model name and the phone number.

Was it in a case?

Y-yes. Dark blue leather with a little engraved nameplate. Panic percolated.

Is C-E-L-I-N-A the correct spelling of your first name?

I nodded. He showed me the reason for their critical looks. The morning’s rude awakening had dulled my observation skills. Deputy 2 had been holding a small package in his hand and now it dangled inches in front of my face.

In a clear plastic bag sealed with yellow ‘EVIDENCE’ tape, was my cell phone in its little blue case. The adrenalin rush made my heart jolt.

My lips formed the word, but there was no sound to my question, Where—?

In between the driver and passenger seats of Mr. Macowsky’s car.

He kept talking. I struggled to breathe, as if I was sealed in that bag. How? Why would my cell be there? Nausea reappeared.

It’s not possible… My whisper was drowned by Bailey’s renewed round of barks.

Apparently satisfied with having ruined my day, Deputies 3 and 4 nodded to each other and walked out to their cruisers.

Banks wasn’t through with me though. He and his partner loomed over me. He asked something. I didn’t hear it.

Mac hasn’t been seen for three weeks. I threatened him the day he disappeared. Money is missing from the storage company. I was solely in charge of payroll. His car is discovered hidden in my front yard. My phone is in this car. I need some coffee.

Ms. Cabot! Deputy Banks raised voice brought me back.

I—

Ms. Cabot, can you think of any reason why your phone would be in his car?

No. I mean, I really thought I had packed it. A lump formed in my throat. My vision was getting soggy.

Do you have a copy of your last bill?

What bill?

Your phone service bill. We’ll need a record of your telephone calls.

Oh. A tear escaped. I used the end of my nightgown sleeve to wipe my eyes then, my glasses. No, I…I don’t. Everything’s packed away. I offered the provider and my number again.

Pages flipped in his notebook. He found the one he wanted and tapped it with his pen.

Did you call Mr. Macowsky any time after you quit?

No, I sniffled.

He stared at me for a long time. The two men exchanged looks.

Where can you be reached?

The Winchester Inn for a few nights. Have you talked to the office staff yet?

A couple of them.

He didn’t offer any more than that. Another tear drop rolled down my cheek and I swiped it with my shoulder.

Without so much as a nod, his partner walked out. Banks continued to stare me down, but his demeanor had changed slightly. A man affected by tears.

He finally left after telling me there would be more questions in the near future. I closed the door behind him and watched for a moment as the four conferred in front of their cars for a while. When I returned from releasing Bailey and Elwood from their temporary prison, all three cruisers were gone.

By the time I finished getting dressed and feeding my four-legged kids, the early morning interrogation had begun to feel like a bad dream. Watching cartoons on the tiny portable TV with my first cup of coffee helped. I had just poured myself a second cup and taken a bite of a bagel, when more bad news arrived.

Celina? Are you here? I heard someone call out from the front entryway.

The empty house eerily echoed the unrecognized voice and sent the cat into a mad dash. Claws sliding on the countertop, he ran in place for a couple of strides before he took off toward the back bedrooms. Bailey abandoned her chew toy and took off after him.

Celina? a woman’s shaky voice called again.

What now?

"Uff ah mihunt! I sputtered and swallowed, cleared my throat and called back, Who is it?"

I muted the volume on the classic Bugs and Daffy cartoon and headed to the front door.

It’s Norma, she said needlessly as I met her in the hall.

Hi, what-uh…’s up? I had started to ask, ‘what are you doing here?’ Early childhood training in politeness and etiquette had left their marks.

What’s wrong? I asked as we shared a perfunctory hug. Norma Greenberg looked pale and haggard.

Oh, Celina, I don’t know where to start. Her hand clung to my arm while I clumsily tried to adjust my glasses.

Do you want some coffee? Why are you here?

She loosened her grip and nodded as I led her back to the kitchen. I was astonished to see her like this. Norma never had a hair out of place, her nail polish always coordinated with her outfits, and her purses always matched her shoes. But not today.

Norma wore an oversized sweatshirt I guessed to be her husband’s, rumpled jeans, no makeup and her short hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush yet. I was glad I’d caffeinated enough of my wits to hide my shock at her appearance and her unannounced visit.

I probably didn’t look much better, but I have an excuse: jeans and turtleneck with zip-up hoodie are my basic uniform of choice for my career as a potter.

Norma sighed, shook her head then sipped from the mug of coffee I had set in front of her. I had a couple of crank calls late last night, and then a deputy came to the house around eleven.

About Mac missing? I had four of them here earlier.

Four! Oh, Celina! I’m sorry. I told him how angry you were with Mac.

It’s okay, Norma. Mac was being a seeping, purulent boil.

Oh, that’s disgusting! she said with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. But it disappeared as she added, Celina, he said you know more than we all think.

Her eyes were watery and red. When she sniffled, I tore a sheet from the roll and handed her a paper towel.

What do you mean?

About Mac, and the car, and…and… She blew her nose.

And what?

Last night, the deputy—Oh, Celina, the things he said! She spoke so softly, I could hardly hear her. Tears spilled down her cheeks. He wanted to know if I had talked to you lately and if I knew that…you (mumble-mumble)…Mac… oh…, she said more I couldn’t make out from behind the mangled paper towel, I don’t know what to believe. And now he’s gone, and…Celina, tell me you really don’t know what’s happened to him!

"Of course, I don’t know what’s happened to him! Or that anything has happened. Don’t be so melodramatic, Norma! I didn’t like the guy, but I didn’t do anything more than throw insults at him.

Norma, when Mac didn’t show up after that first week, didn’t someone call his house?

Mr. Flynn called in to check on things and Brandi told him Mac hadn’t been in. William Flynn was the octogenarian semi-retired company owner. So, Brandi called Mrs. Macowsky and found out Mac had left Tuesday night because…uhm…someone had called their house and asked Mac to meet at the office right away.

Did she say who called or what they wanted?

Norma responded by breaking down again. My saturation limit for the Mac saga was at its peak.

Norma, don’t cry, I said, coming around to her side of the counter. I put my arm around her shoulders and added, Don’t worry about Mac. Everything will turn out fine. (Good Celina)

Inside my head, my alter ego was still wondering how soon I could send Norma on her way. (Bad Celina)

"It’s not Mac I’m worried about. It’s you!" she cried into my ear.

Me? I pulled away from her and leaned my hip on the counter. Why?

With a rising voice she went on, "Karen Macowsky said it was you that called their house that night! She said Mac had left that night cursing and saying he was going to have the company lawyer sue you! That’s the last anyone heard of him. She took a ragged breath and kept going, She’s hiring a private detective to find Mac and look into the…books… and…Brandi said you and he…that you…, she sobbed, They keep saying you…Celina, you didn’t call him that night, did you?"

No, of course not. I have no reason to talk with him. And sue me for what?

I don’t know. Maybe…, she trailed off.

The last of my coffee had gone cold and I felt chilled as well. I couldn’t think of a reason why he’d threaten a lawsuit.

What books are you talking about? I asked as my whirling thoughts caught up with my brain.

The books are still a mess. You know. They don’t balance…

Norma dealt with the business payables and receivables and had been at the Storage for about fifteen years. More than twice as long as I had. Our jobs had overlapped only in that I would withdraw a weekly amount from the company payable/receivables account to cover the weekly payroll and taxes from the Payroll account. And the payroll account always balanced.

You still haven’t been able to figure out what’s wrong? Why didn’t you just tell the deputy to talk with the accountant?

In that moment, I realized why Norma had come all the way out here. She couldn’t tell me all this over the phone because she knew she stirred it up a bit more than she should have. This bubbling cauldron of rumors started by the coven and now gurgling at my doorstep. In self-preservation, Norma had probably fanned the flames during her interview by trying to shift some of the blame on me about the unbalanced books.

A small amount of tension had been wafting between us before I left. I had chalked it up to my leaving, but maybe it was that she really thought I’d messed up her accounting somehow. She now may have unwittingly joined forces with the coven in making me the scapegoat to whatever happened to Mac. And something must have happened. The little dictator wouldn’t have just walked away from his cushy job. Not willingly, anyway.

Elwood had returned and managed to lick the cream-cheese off what remained of my bagel. As I waited for Norma to say something, I watched him lick it to the edge of the counter, where it dropped to the floor and Bailey finished it off. Norma didn’t notice. I didn’t even try to stop them. Instead, I reached into my bottomless canvas tote and felt around for the half roll of antacid tablets.

Daffy was clinging to a giant pearl on the silent TV screen.

Staring at her coffee cup, Norma finally said, He was there for almost an hour asking questions, she covered her face with her hands and shook her head. Norma pushed back her hair and looked at me sadly, If John hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would have done.

From our office conversations, I knew that her husband, John, had been out of work for months and was always at home. If he wasn’t watching the sports channel in his basement den, he was asleep on the couch in the living room. He seemed to have given up trying to find a job after several rejections. Norma was holding their financial lives together with only her paycheck.

Norma, I’m sorry you had a rough time with the deputy. If he came by so late, he must have been overloaded with work, and maybe you got the worst of him. I don’t have any idea where Mac went, and I didn’t ever call him. Don’t worry about me, all right?

In her late fifties, Norma was the oldest, and had always played the mother hen figure in our dysfunctional office coop of fools. She would fuss over any one of us who sniffled with a cold or complained of a problem and fret about the least little things.

While it’s true a missing idiot, his abandoned car at the side of a country road, and sheriff’s deputy asking questions in the middle of the night may not be little things, it is more than likely all this was being blown out of proportion.

Besides, as motherly as she might have seemed at the office, I had the distinct impression she was here to see my reaction to her information. Though I’d worked across the room from her for years, I couldn’t claim I knew her all that well. I knew her office persona, the polished, professional Norma. She was possibly capable of being the kind of woman that sides with the pack to save her own hide. A hyena with a heart.

Norma was alternating her focus between me and her empty cup. Fighting the urge to offer her a refill, I fumbled with my tote bag again.

There seemed to be something more she wanted to tell me.

I crunched on a second antacid tablet and heard Norma mumble something as she blew her nose again.

What? I couldn’t hear you, I said, swallowing the chalky bits.

He told me that the cov—Brandi, Honey and Anita all said you and Mac were having an affair, she muttered.

"What!? What’s wrong with those witches?! Why would they—" I stopped. Grizelda raged inside my head. In our little office coven, Honey Wells and Anita were the apprentice witches, Brandi was their leader.

He said Karen knows about it, and—

Interrupting her, I held my hands up and closed my eyes. With a deep breath, I opened them and said, No. I don’t want to know. It’s so disgusting I can’t think for a minute anyone would believe it. Vomitrotious.

So that was it. Norma, after her interrogation and sleepless night, wound herself up with mixed feelings of camaraderie and curiosity and drove out here to see for herself my reactions to the stories. Enough was enough. I double bolted Ms. Manners in her room and let Grizelda out of her cage.

Listen, Norma, I’ve got a busy week ahead of me. I’m sorry, but I just don’t want to know any more about this. Mac will turn up when he wants to be found. And as far as the rumors are concerned, only an idiot would believe such a load of sewer stew.

No. I didn’t want to believe it. It’s just—

Norma, go home and get some rest.

She didn’t seem to notice my loss of patience. The woman just nodded, looking at her hands, not moving any closer to the door. I started to lead her by the elbow toward the front hall.

I opened the door for her. Bailey occupied herself with a shoestring on my cross trainers.

I’m sorry, Norma. Why it is I always feel badly for asserting myself?

Norma looked at the floor as she said, Please don’t be mad at me. It’s just that—Well, listening to them and their stories, I don’t know what’s true anymore. She dabbed at her eyes.

I’m not mad at you, Norma. I just don’t trust you. I am disappointed. We shared an office for almost six years! The fact you give any credence to the coven’s trailer-trash talk is what really gets me.

She sniffled, I’m sorry.

A hyena with a conscience.

"You know as well as I do that since Earl left eight or nine months ago, Mac has been impossible to