Curse It (A Peg Darrow Novel Book 1), page 11
"Do you have Ivy’s contact information?"
"Yep, go to the drawer in the nightstand. That's where I keep my address book,” he said, his hand shaking as he gestured toward the bedside table. “I told her Violet died. Ivy’s a good girl. She came to visit me yesterday and snuck me in some brownies. They don’t like to give us sugar here. I don’t know why. I’m only hanging on to see justice done for my girl."
I swallowed. No pressure.
I rounded the bed to the small nightstand and pulled out the drawer. The photo held my attention for a moment. They seemed like a happy family. Dusty was a shell of the man he used to be, but there was no doubt it wasn't just the disease that did him in. With the way his arm held his wife possessively and his eyes were looking at her, he had certainly suffered that loss.
"What is Ivy’s last name?"
"Reyes."
Opening the worn little black book, I leafed to the R section and found her name neatly printed. I entered Ivy's number into my phone. "You said she's still here in Tucson?"
"Yep, that girl loves this city. Got a good job, too, at one of the resorts."
"Can you think of anything else that might help?"
Dusty raised his arm to scratch his head. “I really can’t, Miss. The surprise of her death should have put me in my coffin, but I’m too stubborn to leave this mortal coil until I have justice for my girl. You’re going to give them witch justice, right?”
He was referring to death. There was such a thing as imprisonment for supernatural offenders, but more often they were put down because they were too difficult to contain on limited resources.
“That will be Pammy’s decision.”
“You tell her I’m for it,” his voice was barely above a whisper now.
I nodded. I was undecided on the issue, but I’d share Dusty’s wishes with Pammy when the time came.
I reached for my purse and opened my wallet to pull out my card. It was simple, my name, number and email address with no job title. I handed it to him. "If you think of anything else, please let me know."
"That I will, miss. I can't wait to see my wife and daughter, but I need my justice. She should have survived me." A tear leaked out from the corner of his eye, proving just how hard the loss had hit him. A man like Dusty wouldn’t cry for much.
I took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "I will do everything in my power to make sure her spirit has its justice."
He nodded, closing his eyes. I took that as my sign to go and left the man to grieve in peace.
The receptionist, who was eager and chatty earlier, studiously kept her eyes on her computer as I left the building. I didn't mind being ignored. The parking lot was nearly empty. Hopefully that meant there weren't a lot of people in hospice, versus no one wanting to visit their sick loved ones.
In my Jeep, I turned the heat up and pulled out my phone. The number for Ivy rang a few times before going to voice mail. It was a generic message, reciting the number in a robotic tone. I left a short message. With nothing left to do, I decided to wait, which translated to visiting my family.
My parents had moved to the area shortly after I’d graduated from high school, and I had followed to attend U of A before eventually moving back to the Phoenix area and taking over the mortgage on my aunt’s former home. They chose a home in in the hills just outside of Tucson called Oro Valley. They lived in a quaint ranch-style home with a pool and a great view of the city lights at night. The only downside was the number of scorpions and rattlesnakes that found their way into my mother's garden. She was constantly looking for new spells to get rid of them, but nature had its own magic and vexed her at every turn.
I didn't need to call my mom before stopping by. Ours was not a family built on societal niceties. We came and went as we pleased, despite last minute changes to plans. So, I took my Jeep past the paved road to the dirt one and rumbled up to my parents’ house. There was no doubt that my mother heard me coming from a mile away because when I pulled up in a cloud of dust, she stood on the front porch ready to greet me.
She smiled and waved me forward. "Hi, honey, I'm surprised to see you here today."
I walked through the wards, letting them slip over my skin in a warm invitation. My mother stepped right up to give me a bear hug. Barely over five feet my mom still managed to give the best all-encompassing hugs.
She pulled back to study my face. "How's my Fortune?" She grinned like a loon.
My mother was the only person who was thrilled at my recent career choice. She had been positively giddy when I’d told her I started working for Pammy. My father had simply said congratulations in a very noncommittal way and gone off to pray to the spirits for my safety.
Mom was a crime junkie. If there was a special on serial killers, she watched it. If there were a couple of desperadoes robbing banks, she followed every news story. If a trafficking ring was brought down by the police, my mom clapped with wild abandon.
Every Christmas added to her ever-expanding collection of true crime and mystery novels. Her shelves were beginning to buckle slightly.
For some reason, she thought I was invincible, and I did my best to live up to those expectations. "I'm doing well, Mom. I'm on a big case."
"All by yourself?" She squealed reaching up for another hug.
"It's a murder, Mom. You shouldn't be excited."
Instead being admonished, she perked up more. Who did I think I was kidding? Only my mom would be excited about a murder. "That's terrible, honey. Come inside, I'll feed you, and then you can tell me all about your case."
I followed her through the front door and took my favorite seat on the worn leather sofa. Daisy must have suddenly realized I was visiting because the old Catahoula burst into the living room with a spring in her step no twelve-year-old dog should have. I had a fairly good suspicion Mom was putting spells on the dog, but if Daisy wasn't feeling her arthritic hip, I had no complaints.
While I petted the ecstatic dog, my mom slipped into the kitchen to grab me food. I made it a point to never turn down food from my mother, nothing would ever taste as good. Plus, my mother always treated me like a goddess for the first two days of my visit. By the third, she realized I was another unwanted houseguest, who happened to be related and the food would dry up.
She came into the room just as I found the good spot on Daisy's belly. Daisy began kicking her back foot appreciatively. Mom set down a glass of ice and a Diet Pepsi and then a big plate of tamales.
"Oh my gods, Mom, did you make these?"
"Ha, I wish; one day I'll learn to. There was a woman selling them by the grocery bag in the Wal-Mart parking lot."
"Score." I used my fingers to remove the outer cornhusk hiding the delicious masa goodness.
People were surprised when I said the best tamales were sold door-to-door, or out of car trunks. They thought it was unsanitary. I’d never gotten sick, knock on wood, and for these delicious suckers I was willing to take the risk. Daisy got up and placed her head in my lap, looking at me with the love and adoration only a dog could give you. "Don't tell Mom, and I'll accidentally drop some in a minute," I whispered into her ear.
"I heard that," Mom yelled from the kitchen.
"Good, now you know I love your dog enough to share tamales with her."
"It is an act of love, dear. I was tempted to tell you to order a pizza when I heard you drive up. But I knew you'd sniff them out, and then you'd be whining about how I love your sister more than you."
"If you gave her tamales and not me, there would be no doubt you loved her more than me."
She brought her own tamales out and came to sit next to me, placing her plate on the coffee table next to mine. "She’s been begging me to mail her some to Chicago, but I don't even know how one goes about mailing food. It seems unsanitary."
"Like buying them out of a trunk?" I quipped
"Touché."
We went back to eating in silence. They were red chile beef tamales, and no words were necessary when you were happily stuffing your face. I did, however, take some of the masa and drop it on the floor for Daisy. She gave me an accusingly look for not dropping any meat, but the red chiles weren't good for her. Content after finishing my plate, I leaned back into the couch cushion.
"How's Aunt Belinda?"
My mother gave me a sad look. "She's not having the best day. Why don't you bring her a plate of tamales? I'm sure the food and seeing you would cheer her up."
I nodded and stood. I hated seeing my aunt when she was in a state, but I took the good with the bad. It was what family was all about. I grabbed my plate, took it to the country kitchen, and rinsed it before placing it in the dishwasher. Grabbing another heavy stoneware plate, I placed two tamales from the tin foil container and headed down the hallway to the room at the end.
On my way down, I passed a lot of photos. My mom would never be in Better Homes and Gardens for her decorating taste, but she loved family. Every spare surface was covered with one memento or another to prove it. Once at the door, I knocked lightly before entering.
I found my aunt sitting on the edge of her double bed in a well-worn nightgown. Her curly hair in a frizzy cloud around her head as she stared out the window. I approached and pulled up the small dressing table stool to sit in front of her. She finally looked at me. It took another five seconds before she recognized me, but she smiled when she did. "Margaret!"
I winced. "Aw, Aunt Belinda, you know I hate that name."
"Like Peg is better? You sound like a pirate's prosthesis. I'll never understand why Peg is a nickname for Margaret, any more than I'll understand why Dick is a nickname for Richard."
Truth be told I didn't either, but I liked my nickname well enough.
"Mom said you're not doing too well today."
"Oh posh, I don't do well most days, but at least my head is clear this afternoon, if a bit melancholy."
Aunt Belinda had run off with a group of vampires when she was in her mid-twenties. My mother tried to free her from their clutches for years, before my aunt showed up on her doorstep, five years later, hysterical and ranting about blood, ropes, and torture. My aunt never went into what happened, at least not to the family, but she saw a witch psychiatrist at least once a week who specialized in trauma.
Mom kept calming spells all around the house, and they helped. Truth was the move south out of Phoenix had helped the most. Not that there weren't any vampires in the Tucson area, but it wasn't as close to the nest that had seduced her and then stolen her innocence and pieces of her sanity.
"I'm really glad. Well, not about the melancholy stuff, but about the clear head part. Why don't you come to the living room and eat these yummy, yummy tamales."
"No thanks, lovey, but I'll take the tamales. I'm glad you stopped by for a visit, but I need to stay in here today."
I knew better than to push. I handed her the tamales and took her hint, leaving her to her melancholy. My chest tightened. I did understand there was a constant war happening inside of her head. I would respect her boundaries.
I walked back in the living room in time to catch Mom feeding Daisy a bit of tamale. I pointed my finger at her accusingly and an admonishment was on the tip of my tongue when my phone rang. It wasn't a preprogrammed ring tone; I answered it, hoping it was Ivy.
Sure enough when I answered with, "Peg Darrow," I got a response.
"Hi, you left me a message?"
"Ivy?"
"Yes."
"I got your number from Dusty. I wanted to talk to you about Violet, if you have time." I hoped she heard the professionalism I attempted to layer into my voice.
"I have to work tonight, so I don't have long. I need to see you anyway. Where are you?"
That was a little surprising. I gave her directions, and she suggested we meet at a gas station bordering Oro Valley and Tucson. I wanted a coffee shop, someplace we could talk in peace and get caffeinated at the same time. She’d gone silent on the phone for a few moments when I suggested that and since I didn't want her to ditch me, I agreed to her preference. I said goodbye to my mother, making her promise to give Dad a hug from me when he got home from work.
Ivy said she'd be driving a white Ford Escort, and there wasn't one to be found in the parking lot, so I went inside to get a Diet Pepsi. I wasn't desperate enough for my caffeine fix to drink from the burnt coffee pot that was probably brewed hours earlier. Planet killing Styrofoam cup in hand, I headed back out to my Jeep and leaned against the door.
Before too long, an older model white Escort pulled into the parking lot. A small woman with dusky skin and straight black hair wrestled with something in her front seat before getting out of the car. Her approach started out strong, but halfway between her car and me, her feet began to drag. I held my hand up in a wave and gave an encouraging smile. It did the trick as her stride got brisk again. When she reached me, she shoved a wooden box at me without a word.
"Uh hi, I'm Peg. Thanks for meeting me."
"Hi, I don't mean to be abrupt, but whatever is in that sucker had my little sister freaked out.” Ivy shoved the box at me again, and I had to turn around to place my cup on the roof of the Jeep so I could grab it. It was heavy, and I understood why she wrestled with it in her front seat. “She dropped it off at my house this morning and left to god knows where."
Surprised at the odd introduction, I raised my eyebrows. "Okay, not to be rude but what does this box have to do with me?"
"It was Violet's." She looked at me like I was an idiot.
"Then why does your sister have it?"
"She’d been staying with Violet on and off when she was in Phoenix. I don't know what it is, why she had it, or why it freaked her out. What I do know is that I don't want crazy witch shit in my house bringing death and destruction. I told her I'd keep it for her, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her."
"Wait, she was staying at Violet's house during the murder?" The night of the murder I hadn’t gotten a good look at the runner I saw at Violet’s, but if memory served, Ivy’s build was the same as the woman I’d briefly chased. Plus, the girl had dark hair.
Ivy eyed me warily, her dark eyes flat. Probably thought I was leveling an accusation against her sister. "No, I said she stayed there occasionally."
"I’d still like to talk to her. When did she take this box from Violet? Was she given it, or did she take from the house?"
"Look, I didn't come here to make my little sister a suspect. Violet and I went way back, but to be honest, since she moved to Phoenix, we were more like acquaintances. Imogen was friends with her on Facebook, and that's how they got in touch. Violet was a good girl, but she started hanging with the wrong crowd. I never minded her being a witch, but some of the guys she hung with in college?” She grimaced and ran a hand through her hair. “When I came to visit, it was like she was ashamed I was human. Still, we grew up together. I didn't think twice about Imogen staying with her occasionally, since she's been on her bender."
"What do you mean bender? Is your sister an addict?" Vampires immediately came to mind.
"No, that's not what I meant. She’s just needed to blow off some steam, you know?" She blew out a breath.
"Sure." I nodded even though our definitions of bender varied greatly.
"Imogen's boyfriend, the love of her life at the wise age of twenty-two years, died three months ago."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you. The idiot liked to ride his crotch rocket without a helmet. I thank god every day that Imogen was not on the back being an idiot with him that day. She normally was. So, she's taken a semester off and has made little trips here and there to blow off steam, mostly to Phoenix. Its close and enough of her high school friends go to ASU that there's always a couch to crash on. Plus, there was Violet. She always loved Imogen. She didn't have any siblings, and she kinda adopted Im as a little sister. I thought it was good for her, and for Violet too."
"Makes sense. But what’s up with the box?" I held it up and turned it over. Up close it didn’t look like a box as much because there wasn’t an opening, just a solid hunk of wood the shape of a large dictionary with intricate carvings.
"Like I said, Imogen stopped by this morning and dropped it off. Asked me to hide it. It's never a good sign if you have to hide something."
"You're right about that. Do you have any way I can get a hold of your sister?"
"Not really, she doesn't have a cell phone."
I stared at her hard. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" My face tightened I hated when people held out on me, especially when their family member could be in danger.
She threw her hands up and shrugged. "I know, a twenty-two-year-old girl without a cell phone, it sounds like an urban legend, but I swear she doesn’t, or I should say she does, but she doesn't always take it with her. She calls it an electronic leash. She left it at my house when she left the box."
"That's strange." Still not believing her, I continued, "She still has Facebook, right?"
"She does, our last name is Reyes, in case Mr. Williams didn't tell you."
"He did, but thanks anyway. Now, can you think of anyone who'd want to hurt Violet?" Her sister was a lead, but Ivy obviously didn't know anything about what happened between Imogen and Violet.
"Not really, ever since she moved to go to ASU, Vi was distant. Not at first, but after the first year. She became withdrawn. I think it had to do with her being a witch. People in Phoenix aren't as nice about it as people are here."
Something I was all too aware of. The Tucson population was generally more free spirited, but no matter where you went, you could always run into a bigot.
"She became withdrawn?” I repeated. “Can you think of any instance that might have led that change?"
"Nothing specific, no. I just remember going up to surprise her once. That's when our friendship kinda fell apart." Ivy looked down at her feet and shifted shifting a bit before looking back up.
"What happened?"
"Well, I knocked on her apartment on a Monday night. She never was the type to party on a school night, so I knew she wouldn't be out. I brought movies and a bottle of wine. I was excited to spend the night catching up with her. When she answered the door she looked freaked, told me I needed to go. This guy, or should I say god, walked out of her bedroom wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. He belonged on billboards. I wanted to give Vi a high five, but I was shocked and couldn't stop staring. He said something along the lines of ‘Why not have your friend join us?’ It was sleazy, but I considered it; he was that alluring. Violet pinched my arm, hard, and whispered, in this bitchy tone, to go home. She looked at me like I was trash. It was enough to kill my fantasy."
