Under a Spell

Chapter Six

The closer we got to Cathy’s house, the further my heart dropped toward my gut. I couldn’t get her mother’s voice out of my head—the slow, sad way she spoke, the overwhelming sense of hopelessness even when I told her that Will and I were looking at her daughter’s case with new eyes.

“I think this is it,” Will said, jutting his chin toward the tract home in front of us that looked like every other tract home in the neighborhood. I swallowed hard, looking at the two front windows that seemed to stare back at me, two black eyes accusing, burning into my soul.

“Do you really think we should be doing this?” I asked.

Will swung his head toward me. “You told me you talked to the girl’s mum. You told me she was okay with it.”

“I did and she is, but”—I massaged my palm with my thumb and stared out at the house—“I feel bad now.”

“Isn’t this the proper way to ‘work a case,’ as you say?”

“Yeah, but I just feel so—like we’re taking advantage of Mrs. Ledwith. She sounded so sad on the phone and now we might be using her daughter’s death to bring another girl home?” I shook my head. “It just doesn’t seem fair.”

Will wrapped his big hand around my elbow and squeezed gently. His eyes were soft, a lick of hair blowing over his forehead. “A girl dead, another one missing—none of this is fair, love. But if Cathy’s death could help another family to not go through the same grief, don’t you think her mother would want that?”

I shivered; the idea of death and kids had once been so blissfully foreign to me. I liked it that way. “Yeah, I guess so.”

I followed Will up the walk, still trying to assuage the guilt that welled in my chest. This was Cathy’s house. Cathy had walked up this path everyday. Had her mother stood out here and waited the day Cathy didn’t come home?

I was overwhelmed with a paralyzing grief. My stomach went heavy.

“You okay, love?”

I swallowed hard and took Will’s arm when he offered it. I let him lead me to the porch. Cardboard boxes were stacked just to the left of the house’s double doors. I squared my shoulders and rang the bell while Will peeked in the top box. “Kitchen stuff. Looks like someone is moving.”

Julia Ledwith pulled open the door and offered Will and me a close-lipped smile. “You must be the investigators.”

Will looked at me, slight question in his eyes, but went with it.

“You’re Mrs. Ledwith?” he asked.

She opened the door wider and ushered us in, pulling on the neck of her faded Stanford University sweatshirt. “Actually, it’s Ms. Foley, now, but you can call me Julia. Can I get you both something to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and left us standing in the foyer.

I did a quick scan of the entryway and dining room before us. Both were nearly bare and scrubbed clean, each with its own stack of carefully labeled cardboard boxes in the center.

Julia came back with two glasses, handed us each one, and looked around as though she had just noticed her surroundings.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “The place is a mess. I’m moving, so . . .” Both her words and her eyes trailed off, her eyes scanning the walls, our clothes, looking anywhere except directly at Will or me. “We can sit in the kitchen.”

A thick fog of uncomfortable silence set over us as we sat at the kitchen table. I sipped at my lemonade and wished that I were anywhere else on the planet, Will took in his surroundings, and Julia stared into her cup.

“Nice place here,” Will said. “Had you been here long?”

“Sixteen years,” Julia said without looking up. “It’s too big now without Cathy. And Peter and I”—her shoulders slumped—“we’re divorcing.”

I shot Will a murderous look when Julia’s voice cracked.

“I’m sorry,” I said soothingly. “I’m sorry we have to be here and bring all this up again.”

“You’re not bringing anything up. It’s not like ‘it’ has gone anywhere.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Do you want to know about the day she went missing?”

I was taken back at the abruptness of Julia’s question. This woman who moved slowly, looked about questioningly, suddenly sounded like she was asking us if we wanted to see her Avon catalog. The lemonade I had been sipping burned at the pit of my stomach. “Yes. Please.”

Julia cleared her throat and set down her glass. “There was nothing special about that day. Not a single thing. Cathy got up, got dressed, came downstairs. She probably poured herself a bowl of cereal and we probably glared at each other across the table as she ate it.”

“You two had problems?” Will asked.

“What mom and her teenage daughter don’t? It was nothing really terrible—I would ask her to do things and she would tell me I was ruining her life.” Julia smiled, her eyes becoming glassy. “I drove her to school, she got out of the car and—and”—she looked down at her hands, sniffling—“that was the last time I saw her.”

“Again, Ms. Foley—”

“Julia, please.”

“Julia, I’m sorry,” I said, licking my lips. “I am sorry to have to—”

Julia waved her hand. “The cops have been over this a hundred times, but if anything helps save—save another little girl . . .”

“Did Cathy have any problems at school?”

“Her grades were exceptional.”

I edged forward. “Was Cathy in any clubs on campus?”

Julia’s smile was genuine. “What club was that girl not in? She cheered, she sang, she was president of the French club—she even did animal rescue on the weekends. Ran bake sales and things at school to pay adoption fees. When it came to extracurricular activities, there was nothing she didn’t do. She was interested in so many things.”

Julia’s eyes teared up and she pressed a napkin to them, then coughed. “Sorry.”

I put my hand on her arm, my heart in my throat, my gut reaction demanding that I find Cathy’s killer and Alyssa’s kidnapper right now, today, and skin him alive. Every muscle in my body was taut, alert, and the anger pricked under my skin.

“How about with other students?” Will asked. “Was she ever bullied, or, did she ever mention anything about having a hard time with some of her schoolmates?”

“No, no. Cathy got along with everyone. I mean, there were always little tiffs or ‘drama’ as the girls say—said—within her social circle, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

I perked up. “Her social circle? Do you remember the girls she hung out with?”

Julia nodded. “Kristy Thomas. Kelly Peck. It was mainly the three of them. Kristy and Kelly have both gone off to college now. Oh, there was a new girl, a younger girl that used to tag along, too. She had a different name.”

“Kayleigh?” I asked, my breath catching in my throat.

“No. Uh, Faith. No, that’s not right. It was—Fallon—that’s right, Fallon. Real pretty girl. Pretty standoffish, though. Didn’t seem very friendly. Cathy said she was just shy. She was like that—would take girls under her wing who were new or she thought were having a hard time.”

It was hard for me to imagine Fallon ever having a hard time at anything.

“She and this Fallon girl got very close.” Julia’s lips pressed against her gritted teeth and I could tell she was fighting not to cry. “Fallon came over once after—after. She brought flowers—Stargazer lilies, Cathy’s favorites. She was very upset. I remember she went up to Cathy’s room and curled up on her bed, crying. Then she fell asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake her. She was gone the following morning. She left a nice note, though.”

I straightened. “A note? What did it say? Did you keep it?”

Julia nodded and stood, staring at the stacked boxes with her hands on hips. She skirted them all and pulled open a drawer of a curio cabinet.

“I don’t know why I kept it,” she said as she sat back down. “It’s silly, I guess.”

“No, not at all. May I see it?”

She put the folded piece of binder paper—one edge frayed from the spiral binding—into my hand. I unfolded it, my heart pounding, the blood pulsing in my ears. Will slid his chair closer to me; I could feel his shoulder brush mine.

Dear Mrs. Ledwith, I read silently. I am so sorry for all the pain and grief you must be feeling right now. I wish I could bring Cathy back for you—for all of us. I loved her. I wish I could have done more. I should have done more.

The breath that caught in my throat was now sucked out of my body along with all the air in the room. I shot Will a knowing glance, but he was too busy pushing the ice around in his cup to register my silent Aha!

I refolded the note carefully, blinking hard to hold back the tears.

“I don’t think I can tell you much more, unless you want to know about the—the day she was fou—”

“No, no, that’s okay, we don’t need to—”

“Have you packed up Cathy’s room as well?” Will asked, his accent ricocheting around the room—and knocking through my head. I tried to shoot him my most demonic look, but, as usual, he was focused on something else.

“No, Julia, we don’t mean to—”

Julia set down her cup and wrung her hands in her lap. “Actually, I haven’t touched Cathy’s room since—since it happened. I keep telling myself I’ll get around to it.”

“Do you mind if we take a look?” Will wanted to know.

“No, of course not. Top of the stairs. You’ll know the one. I hope you don’t mind if I stay down here.”

I pushed the note into her hands and Will and I trudged up the stairs.

“Did you read that?” I whispered, my lips against Will’s ear.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think we should be looking through Cathy’s room. I think we need to be looking through Fallon’s.”

“Why’s that now?”

“Why?” I gaped. “Were we not reading the same note? ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘I wish I could bring Cathy back’? If those aren’t the words of a guilty conscience, I don’t know what is.”

Will and I stopped on the landing. He looked down at me, the sympathy in his eyes quickly chased out by steadying logic.

“I thought the note sounded very much like a grieving, guilt-ridden survivor.”

“‘I wish I could have done more’? ‘I should have’? That’s not admitting anything?”

“No, love, it’s not. Maybe Fallon wishes she could have done more to help find Cathy. Maybe she wishes she could have done more to help the Ledwiths grieve.”

I let out a whoosh of air, putting my hands on my hips. My eyebrows slammed together in one of those Really? looks. “You really think that’s what Fallon meant? You know her!”

“Not really. And I know even less of who she was a year ago, just after one of her closest mates was found murdered.”

I knew, intellectually, what Will was saying made sense, but I was having a hard time believing it.

“But—”

“But she’s a teenage girl, Sophie. Who you’re accusing of killing her best friend.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not saying she killed her, I’m saying that Fallon may have had more to do with it than you think.”

“And I’m saying she may have had less to do with it than you think.”

“You don’t know teenage girls, Will. You don’t know what they’re like.”

Will took a step back from me, his eyes raking over me in a way that made me feel exposed. “Those are your demons, love. Not hers.”

I stood, silent, dumbfounded, wounded—and not wanting to admit that Will was right.

“Are you two okay up there?” Julia was standing at the base of the stairs, one hand wrapped around the wrought-iron bannister, one foot on the bottom stair. She pressed her toes into the carpet, and I could see the muscle flick in her arm as she seemed to toy with whether or not she would take a step.

“You can’t miss her door,” she said, a slight catch in her voice. She turned and disappeared around the corner before we had a chance to answer.

Julia was right: there was no missing Cathy’s door. It was the only one closed, the only one with any semblance of life—a big, glittery C nailed to it, a heap of hairbands choked around the knob. Will pushed the door open and sauntered inside, but I hung back in the hallway.

“Come on, then. What are you waiting for?”

I bit my bottom lip and Will turned on a sigh. “Sorry about the demons crack, love. I just meant—”

“No.” I held up a hand. “You were right.” I eyed Cathy’s door. “It just seems—wrong.”

Will opened his legs slightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. His eyes staring down at me. Whether the stance was his version of alpha male or Sigmund Freud I wasn’t sure. “Why do you think it’s wrong? We’re investigators, remember?” There was the slightest hint of play in his voice. “We’re investigating.”

I toed the carpeted threshold. “I feel like we’re violating Cathy’s privacy. Her last bit of respite.”

Before I could recoil, Will reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me into the room. “With all due reverence for the dearly departed, we’ve got business to tend to and a rapidly pressing time line.”

“Right. Yeah, sorry.” I shook myself and did a three-sixty, my eyes sweeping the sweet-pea pink walls. Most of the paint was covered over with posters, photographs of smiling, beautiful teens, and glossy cutouts of sunken-cheeked models stomping down runways. Cathy’s desk was cluttered with papers, makeup pots, and all manner of girlie tchotchkes—all except one thirteen-inch rectangle.

“What do you think went there?”

I brushed my hand over the blank spot. “A laptop.”

“Was that mentioned in the evidence collection?”

I tapped a finger against my bottom lip. “Her backpack, I think two textbooks, a pencil case, and a notebook. Spiral not viral.”

“We’ll want to ask Julia about that. Are you just going to stand there or help me look for some clues?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Why, Will Sherman, when did you become a detective?”

He held up an admonishing finger. “Private investigator. Angel Boy is the detective.”

“Noted,” I said. “Don’t you think it’s even a little telling that Fallon was friends with both the girls who went missing?”

“Well, there are four-hundred-eighty girls in the entire high school. Everyone was pretty much friends with everyone, right?”

I snatched a picture of Cathy and someone who must have been Kristy or Kelly from Cathy’s corkboard. Though she was shadowed in the background of the shot, I could still make out Fallon’s low brows, the menacing purse of her lips. “Everyone may have known each other, but everyone definitely wasn’t friends.”

Will slugged an arm over my shoulder and pulled me to him, ruffling my hair and kissing me gruffly on the top of my head. “Aw, like a wounded bird.”

I rolled my eyes and in my attempt to shove Will and his lame attempt at comforting me, I dropped the photo. It wafted to the ground, fluttering just under Cathy’s dust ruffle. I groaned, then dropped to hands and knees. I could feel Will move behind me.

“Did I ever mention—”

I swung my head and glared at him. “If you’re going to finish that sentence with ‘how much I love America,’ I’ve heard it. You seem to become incredibly patriotic whenever my ass is in the air.”

“Not just your ass, love.”

“Even better. Hey.” I swiped at the photo, then slid out the wooden box stashed behind it. “What’s this?”

It was a plain rectangular box about the size of a jewelry box but with absolutely no adornment. I flipped it open and sucked in a breath.

“Oh. Well, that casts a bit of new light, don’t you think?” Will said, pointing at the cluster of herbs in a plastic baggie. I picked up the bag, gave it a sniff, and frowned. “It smells like Thanksgiving.”

Will took the baggie from me, squinted, then sniffed. “It’s sage.”

“You know about herbs?”

“Don’t look so completely surprised. I can cook, you know.”

“You store your cleats in your oven.”

Will shrugged. “I said I can cook. I didn’t say that I do cook. So, is sage smoking the new black in SF? Or was our girl planning on cooking . . . secretly?”

I took the sage back. “No. Sage is used—especially bunched like this—to cleanse evil spirits from a room.” I put the baggie aside and picked out a few other trinkets—another grouping of dried herbs with flowers mixed in, two orange votive candles burned down to the tin, and a quarter-sized charm hanging from a length of black satin cording.

“What is that?” Will said, taking the amulet end of the necklace in his hand. I chewed the inside of my cheek, my heartbeat starting to thud. “It’s the symbol that was carved into the desk.” I turned the amulet around and showed it to Will.

“Another girl who thought she needed protection.”

Will pulled the last item from the box—a thin, fabric-bound book.

“That’s the same book Miranda had,” I said, taking it from him. “It’s a book of protection spells. The exact same one Miranda had.” I flipped it over, looking for some kind of discernible marking. “I wonder if it was from the same place.” I could feel myself starting to chew on the inside of my cheek again and I shook myself. “Do you think Cathy knew what was going to happen to her? And if so, does that mean Miranda is next?”

Will took the necklace and the book from me, slipping them both in his pocket and slipping the box back under Cathy’s bed. “Only one way to find out.” He stood and opened the bedroom door. “Coming?”

“We can’t just take that,” I hissed. “It’s Cathy’s property. Shouldn’t we at least tell her mother?”

“I think Julia has enough to deal with already,” Will said without turning around.

It was nearly seven o’clock when Will and I left Cathy’s house. I dialed Alyssa’s home number, my stomach doing flip-flops with each ring. Finally, the voice mail kicked on.

“I guess we’re out of the luck for the day, huh?” Will asked as we crested the Mercy High driveway.

I pinched my bottom lip, held up an index finger, and dove into my shoulder bag.

“What’s that?” Will asked, gesturing with his chin at the thin book I pulled out.

I slapped on the overhead dome light.

“Hey! Careful! Nigella is a collector’s item, remember?”

“A trash collector’s item,” I grumbled, trying to make anything out in the dim light. “Aha.” I grabbed my cell phone and dialed the number. “It’s the high school directory,” I whispered to Will as I let the phone ring. “I’m calling Miranda.”

“Why?” he whispered back.

“She could be next. She could be in danger right now.”

Miranda’s voice mail kicked on and I smacked the phone shut. “Damn it!”

“You don’t want to leave a message?”

My eyes bulged. “Really? What would I say? ‘Miranda, dear, this is your teacher. You’re in grave danger, so try not to leave the house. Or maybe you should leave the house. TTYL!’”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t end with ‘TTYL.’ I was thinking more along the lines of ‘can you call me when you get this.’”

I flopped my head back against Nigella’s cracked maroon headrests. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Will. I feel like we aren’t getting anywhere. Maybe it’s time to leave this one to the professionals.”

Will was silent for a beat before he clicked off the overhead light. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and by that time Will had slipped my hands into his and pulled them close to his chest.

“You are a professional, love. The police department is doing what they’re best at, and you’re doing what you’re best at. Sampson knows—this is not just about teenage girls. This is about witchcraft and you know how to deal with that.”

“That’s the thing, Will. Some toilets blew up. Some girls have spell books. What else proves that this has anything to do with witchcraft? And it is about the girls. We’re looking for bedknobs and broomsticks and Alyssa is still missing.”

He squeezed my hands and the warmth of his—his smooth palm, our fingers interlaced—shot a comforting warmth through me and I wanted to believe anything he said.

“We’re going to find her, love.”