The Witching Hours, page 5
“We do. You’d be surprised. A wicked-witch costume is huge around here, though it doesn’t really make much sense, but a lot of people don’t know history. They just know that Salem is famous for historic witches and local wiccans. They think that it’s funny or great to dress up as a wicked witch. Go figure.”
“We need to see your sales receipts,” Skye told him.
He frowned. “You think someone bought—or stole—a costume before they kidnapped my wife and child?” he asked.
“Possibly. Or stole something in the past. At the least, we’ll see who was in the shop last,” Zach told him. He wanted to be reassuring.
Maybe they could be—although it would have been one hell of a help if they’d had security cameras.
He wasn’t so sure his “talent” would be helpful here; dozens of people had probably touched most of the things in the shop.
However, Skye …
Her abilities were amazing, so amazing …
He almost wondered at the wisdom utilized when he had been partnered with her. Then again, maybe her strengths could make up for …
His weaknesses? He hadn’t seen himself as weak in a long time—not since he’d learned at a young age that he needed to be careful. And if he ever wanted to use the strange things he was able to know, he needed to be what people called “the strong, silent type.” Like most of any of the people he’d met with their different abilities, they weren’t often shared. People were quick to ridicule others or worse—accuse them of needing serious therapy.
But …
Right now? Being partnered with her was proving to be incredibly helpful on this case. He had to admit, he had been doubtful, but …
She was entirely credible. He was surprised to discover that he did believe what she said, what she saw …
And beyond that, she was simply bright and he had already found himself liking her far more than he had imagined he might.
They needed to see the register receipts.
And we need a way for her to try her unique sense of vision.
They could get going on the receipts, and he could distract Keith Howell and give Skye the opportunity to do her thing.
“Anything, anything!” Howell muttered, leading them toward the register. Zach could see that while the place might not have security cameras, the register was set to the left when facing the door.
Someone standing at it and staffing the register could easily see if someone was trying to walk out with merchandise without paying for it.
“They don’t believe me. The police don’t believe me,” Howell told them. “I don’t get what they don’t understand. I know my wife! She would never leave the shop open and disappear. Something happened. Something bad! And … okay, we don’t have cameras, but there is an alarm by the register. If Jane had been at the register when something happened, she could have hit the alarm. The police are close by; they can be here fast. Of course, a smart thief would be gone, but it’s not like this is a major bank or anything. Someone just trying to pilfer a costume is unlikely to be a hardened criminal.”
“We’re going to find out what happened, Mr. Howell. We believe you, but I’m afraid this is going to take time,” Skye said.
“I’ll make a call and see to it that we have an alert out on your daughter,” Zach told Howell as the proprietor went behind the counter and keyed in numbers on his computer that brought up the store’s receipts. “I’ll need a picture of your daughter—”
“I have one of Sophie with my wife—a good picture,” Howell said.
“I’ll take that, perfect,” Zach murmured. He’d get it to the right people; they’d make sure it was sent out everywhere.
As he managed notifications for alerts to go out with the news and on signs on nearby highways and wherever else possible, Skye started on the receipts.
They had a chance to glance at one another. He gave her a slight nod; she returned it. A minute later, he found an excuse to get Keith Howell to show him to the back so he could see the little room where Sophie went after school, did her homework, played until it was time to close the store, and head home for the night.
“We’re alone up here on a day-to-day basis,” Howell explained, as if he needed an excuse for the fact that his child came to work with them so often. “Jane’s folks are gone. My mom is still with us, but she’s in Boston. She’ll come on out for a few weeks here and there—especially at Halloween. This is a great place; we have plenty of friends, good friends, but we rely on one another and—”
“Mr. Howell, this is a great little place; and I can see that you really take a lot of care that Sophie is with you and has everything she needs,” he said. He wasn’t lying. Sophie had her television, a desk, shelves filled with books, crayons, paints, coloring books, and more, along with a giant dollhouse and a trunk filled with toys.
Zach could only imagine what her room in her home looked like.
“I guess it’s weird, too, that a kid spends so much time with … monster mannequins and so on. But we’ve been big on telling her the difference between imagination and pretend monsters—and real monsters, animals that can hurt her—including people. She meets people all the time. She’s cheerful and loving; but, of course, even in Swampscott, we’ve given her lessons that she knows to be really important when it comes to stranger danger.”
“Honestly, as I said, I’m sure you and your wife are great parents,” Zach told him. “This is an incredible hideaway for your little girl. But you said when you talked to your assistant manager, Debbie, she said that Sophie had been back here when she left?”
“Yes. But there was an hour between her leaving and my arriving,” Howell told him. “Do we need to get back out there—”
“Everything that can be done is being done,” Zach said calmly. “I’ve got someone checking the closest cameras. Pictures of Sophie will be going up all over, and someone will have seen something.”
He believed he had given Skye the time she needed. He paused just a minute longer, looking around Sophie’s little “work” room.
He needed something. In his current state, he didn’t think Howell would be willing to hand over something his daughter loved, a toy of some kind. But maybe …
In a pretense of walking around the room, he paused looking at a picture over her little desk. There was a little stuffed zebra on her desk.
He slid it into his pocket, glad that Howell was too distraught to notice.
Then turned back to Keith Howell. “I want to get back to the register to help my partner go through the receipts. If we have names on purchases for those costumes, for green paint …”
“You may have a place to start?” Howell asked, bewildered. “What makes you think they might have dressed up with wicked-witch paraphernalia?” Howell asked anxiously. “And green …”
No way to answer with the truth.
“There was something online that suggested such a thing—disappeared right away, but it gave us an idea of which way to look,” Zach lied.
They headed out to the register. Skye appeared to be carefully studying the computer and the sales records. She glanced up.
Strange. She didn’t even need to nod anymore; he could read her eyes.
Yes, she had seen something. Enough? Probably not, but they were grasping at straws; women and children were missing.
“Find anything?” he asked.
“Seven bottles of Evergreen Green in the last four weeks,” Skye said. “Only one corresponds to a purchase of the Which Witch Is Which costume, and that was three weeks ago. And the purchases were made with cash.”
“Of course,” Zach mumbled. Well, they’d lied to Howell. Maybe it was time to lie to backup law enforcement as well.
He turned to Keith Howell. “Sir, I know that this is going to be impossible for you, but you need to go home and try to get some rest.”
“Rest!” the man said incredulously. “My wife and kid—”
“Someone may try to reach you at your house. We’ll see that an officer is sent out there, too. But again, someone may contact you wanting a ransom, trying to get you to exchange something for your family. And while—”
“I need to be looking for them!” Howell protested.
“Sir, you want to help. Being at your home will be the biggest help. Getting dozens of officers out looking for them will be the best way to possibly bring them home.” Zach had his phone out.
He could call the detectives on the Bolton case, but he decided he wanted to call Jackson first and let him know what was going on—that another woman and another child had been kidnapped.
He didn’t reach Jackson; he did reach Angela. He learned Jackson was already being briefed on the situation in the DC area, but Angela assured Zach she’d get people out as quickly as possible from the Boston area, and she’d smooth the way through with the local police as well.
When he finished the call, he saw Skye had been speaking quietly with Keith Howell; and she’d gotten him to understand he’d be the best possible help by going home. As he listened, Zach felt his phone vibrate in his pocket; he pulled it out. An officer would be there momentarily to escort Howell home.
He and Skye needed to come into headquarters. Detectives Cason and Berkley had been ordered to get sleep, but the police needed a task force meeting now so that they’d be brought up to speed on developments in the morning.
Howell locked up the shop, and an officer arrived to follow him home and stay with him through the night.
When they were finally in the car alone together, Zach could ask Skye just what she had seen.
“A cape,” she began.
“So, not a wicked-witch costume—”
She turned to him, shaking her head. “A single person arrived wearing a long brown hooded cape. But they were green and wearing the witch costume beneath the cape. Again they had a gun. Jane Howell was forced to get her daughter, then forced to wear the cape. Zach, the poor woman was terrified. The person dressed as the witch beneath the cape told her in no uncertain terms her child would be shot through the eyes if she didn’t obey everything said. The mother was great with her little girl; she made her think they were just going off on an adventure. The witch took another cape from a costume rack so even if there are cameras somewhere near the shop, all they’ll have picked up are two figures in capes and a little girl hugging a teddy bear—holding hands with the one figure and smiling.”
“Okay, but we know that, again, someone has decided that dressing up as a wicked witch is the way to go. And we know that person is wielding a gun, choosing victims who are good people with no knowledge of how to defend themselves. Whoever it is, they’re from here. They knew the Bolton family’s schedule—and they knew when Jane Howell and her daughter would be here alone, when the shop was the least busy, and that there were no guns hidden by the cash register.”
“Great. We’re looking for a local,” she said wearily, leaning back. “Definitely.”
He didn’t answer at first.
“Does it …” he began.
“What?” Skye demanded.
“Does it wear you out when you try to see the past, especially when … well, there are hundreds of years to go through. I imagine that …”
She smiled, her head back on the seat, her eyes closed.
“I don’t know, of course. So far, there’s been no way to study this phenomenon. Still, I can’t help but wonder if sometimes it’s a matter of residual energy—usually the last surge of energy, and sometimes, maybe, the strongest surge of energy. There are many articles regarding people—and paranormal groups—being at Gettysburg and there are certain places there where people may not see the past, but they feel it or claim to feel it—or it’s really there.”
He glanced at her. “That must be painful for you.”
“I’ve been there; now, I avoid Gettysburg!” she said.
“So it is painful.”
She grimaced. “So much agony, anguish, and death,” she said. “And yes, it can be painful. When something is needed, I’m … It sounds weird, but the pain is worth it when it can give me something that helps someone. Then the good feeling is incredible, too. But … I can’t change the past. I can only use what I learn from it to help in the present or the future.”
“Of course,” he murmured.
She turned to look at him. “What about you? When you hold something and see what you see? Does it hurt? Is it exhausting?”
“Nothing like what you go through,” he told her. He tried to smile lightly. “As you said, I don’t run around trying to touch things that have a horrible past—unless it can do something to help in the present, or as you said in the future.”
“You didn’t get anything from the shop?”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t the kind of place where … Okay, too many people handled too many things, if that makes sense.”
“Of course!”
“But …”
“But?”
He produced the zebra.
“Cute. And?”
“I couldn’t do anything with Howell there and”—he paused, wincing—“I didn’t ask Howell if I could take it. Of course, I’ll return it! But …”
“So, did you get anything yet?”
“I may get more when I have time to keep holding it. Right now, I know she wasn’t afraid; her mother kept her from being afraid.”
“I guess every little mercy needs to be appreciated!” Skye said.
It wasn’t much of a drive to reach the headquarters. When they were there, they discovered that a crew of officers, state and local police, and extra agents from the Boston area had been gathered by the man who had seen to it that Jackson brought people in; they were all to be part of a task force and/ or at least aware of what they were looking for.
They met with Lieutenant Gavin Bruns first.
He was, as she had expected, a serious man with cleanly cut dark hair and a professional demeanor that was tempered by a warmth beneath as he greeted them. She was certain as they spoke that he had a deep empathy for victims. He didn’t dig when Skye said they’d seen something online that had almost instantly disappeared, someone claiming they’d witnessed a green witch with a pointed hat head toward the Bolton house.
He was a friend of Jackson’s. Maybe he had learned he just needed to let Jackson and his people go—accept the good without question.
Zach didn’t know what had happened in Salem before; but whatever had gone down, Bruns had been impressed. He didn’t appear to want to pry or feel any need to pursue the why behind their explanation of what they believed had happened.
He just wanted them to talk to the assembly of law enforcement officers they had gathered.
They needed to warn the force that was being sent out to find the victims. And they wanted to make sure that those who would be working their regular beats needed to be aware of what they should be looking for.
Bruns, recently given a promotion, was managing a few cases; he had sent Detectives Cason and Berkley home. No one could work efficiently when they’d gone too many hours without sleep. The next morning, as soon as they reported in, the two partners would learn what they needed to be doing, and looking for.
“And you two! After this meeting, you’re going to let other officers and agents work through the night. I promise you, we will be looking for these women and children. But you also need to get to your rooms and get some sleep. No one works well when they are so exhausted that they are about to keel over. Not even Feds,” he said, offering a smile and a dry shot at humor.
They were ready for the meeting.
After having met with Bruns, they both were disappointed he wasn’t going to be working with them, but he was, of course, just a phone call away at any time they might need him. He brought them out to introduce them to the squad, to many of those who would be handling any tech on the case.
“I must admit, I haven’t had much time with them or any time. They’ve been in the field, and I’ve been stuck behind a desk,” Bruns told the pair. “But you’re introduced, take it away with these folks.”
Skye gave Zach a nod, and he knew she wanted him to do the talking.
It was going to be easier for him to lie, he figured.
Because there was no choice. They had to make use of lies. Easier was his only choice.
Zach did his best, first telling the assembled law enforcement what was simple fact, then telling them that the rather ridiculous possibility of someone dressing up as a witch to carry off the crimes appeared to be what was happening. The second place hit had been the costume shop, where there was evidence that someone, paying cash, had purchased both the makeup and the costume.
Some of the team apparently thought the idea of such a thing was still theory; others believed if they could find a suspect who was holding on to the costume paraphernalia, they might well have a case against them.
The meeting was over, and officers in Salem and surrounding areas would be on the search through the night for the kidnapping victims.
While neither Skye nor Zach believed Fin was involved, a search warrant would be issued so his tiny studio and his car could be searched.
Then …
Then there was no choice. They were being asked to get sleep.
They’d been set up at a small nineteenth-century home near Salem Common. It was close to the station; but as they settled into the car, Skye closed her eyes again, and it appeared she was almost wincing.
“Are you all right?” he asked her. “Sorry—I do keep asking that. It’s just that I was pretty worthless today, and I guess it took a greater toll on you.”
“I am fine, just tired, and historic witch trials—and a green witch. Human beings … we’re capable of being so ridiculous!”
“Beyond a doubt. Beyond a doubt. Human—and then inhumane. But … while things were bad here, did you know that werewolf trials took place in Europe in the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries?” Zach asked her.
“Trials—for someone being a werewolf?” Skye asked. “I must admit, that never came up in any of my history classes.”
