Waking the Witch
Page 61

“To who?”
“Me. She knew I was coming over.”
“And she knew no one else would hear the baby crying and get there first? She knew you’d break in if she missed her appointment? She knew you’d notice the Bible and realize which passage she meant?” He shook his head. “No, whoever killed her left that.”
“As a message?”
“Maybe.” He sat upright and pointed to the chair. “Hand me my laptop.”
I passed it over, then sat on the edge of the bed as he opened the database and started typing. When the chapter reference didn’t work, he tried the text itself.
“I’ve heard that verse,” he murmured as he kept looking.
“Yeah, it’s a famous one.”
“No, I mean—” He glanced up at me. “How do you know it? Your mother doesn’t strike me as the Bible study sort. Paige might respect all religious faiths, but that’s one passage she wouldn’t repeat. Was it the Coven? It sounds like something they’d use.”
“As a motto, no doubt. Proof that the world hates us and we have to hide. But I don’t remember hearing it there. I don’t remember where I heard it at all. But it stuck in the back of my mind.”
“Let me call my dad.” He grabbed his cell phone, then stopped. “No, last resort.”
His dad had a stroke a few months ago—Robert was in his seventies—and Adam hated bugging him with anything that wasn’t life or death.
“If it’s about witches, then Paige—” I glanced at the clock. Nearly six ... and three hours earlier in Hawaii.
“Let’s hold on to the call a friend’ card for a minute. Tiffany dies with a Bible opened to averse about killing witches. Yesterday she said someone’s been spying on her. You said someone’s watched you a couple of times. What do you and Tiffany have in common?”
“We’re both young and hot. Well, in her case, less so on both counts, but close enough.” I caught his look. “Oh, you meant the witch part. Okay, so there’s a chance we have someone in town out to kill witches. Big surprise. Not like we haven’t been dealing with that for the last few centuries. Totally unfair, when there are much worse things running around out there. Mass murderers, serial rapists, half-demons ...”
“Thanks.”
“I’m just saying, in general, one would think demon blood would inspire more persecution than being able to make healing potions. But if we do have a killer targeting witches, how does that tie into the other murders? Sure they’re young women, but they aren’t—” I stopped. “Or are they?”
Adam shook his head. “Ginny’s file shows she’s got an uncle in jail, and he’s her mom’s twin brother, which means Paula Thompson is no witch, ergo, neither is Ginny. We already know Claire had a brother, so no witch there either.”
“Michael was her half brother on their dad’s side. And if she was a practicing witch, that might explain why she investigated the commune. Her friend mentions something that sounds supernatural and she gets worried. Turns out to be Santeria, but by then, she’s already been targeted by the killer.”
“Okay, but Ginny ... ?”
“There were two people killed that night—a fact we keep overlooking because Ginny comes with her own obvious suspect.”
“Brandi.” He nodded. “Brandi is a witch. The killer goes after her. Ginny and Brandi are inseparable so he takes Ginny out, too, then laughs as everyone zeroes in on the abusive boyfriend theory.”
“Time to get to know a lot more about Brandi Degas.”
 
GREAT IDEA. BUT as soon as we started the research, I was reminded why we’d overlooked Brandi from the beginning. Because Mr. Mulligan had been right—she was little more than Ginny Thompson’s shadow. I hadn’t been able to form a single theory where the target was Brandi alone. But now I had one, and my bio check showed no brothers or uncles, which would have ruled out witch-hood.
We needed to chat with Brandi’s mom.
 
IT WAS STILL way too early for an interview.
“I’ll grab breakfast,” Adam said when I headed for the shower. “I’ll get it at that coffee shop so I can thank the server for running stuff over for me.”
“Good idea. Oh, wait. When you talk to her, you’re my boyfriend.”
“Huh?”
“She jumped to that conclusion and I figured she might not bring the food if she wasn’t aiding the cause of true love, so ...”
“You lied to get room service. Well, considering I’m walking out of your room at seven in the morning, we’d better not straighten anyone out. If I grab your ass in public, then, I’m just playing my part.”
“And if you get your fingers broken for it, I’m just playing mine.”
He laughed and left.
 
THE JEEP WASN’T running well, but it was running. Good enough. Jesse was gone when we set out, so I texted him to say we’d catch up later. When we arrived at Carol Degas’s house, I double-checked the address. It was on the outskirts of town, and I expected to see a dump. The house was tiny, yes, and it showed its age, but it was as well kept and tidy as Paula’s mobile home, with fresh yellow paint, flowers in the tended garden, and a multicolored wooden Welcome! sign on the door.
“Carol must have moved out after Brandi died. Probably couldn’t afford the upkeep without her daughter’s rent money. Shit.”
“She might have left a forwarding address with these folks.” Adam rapped the door. “Wouldn’t want those welfare checks to get lost.”
I could hear gospel music playing inside. At least we weren’t waking up the new owners. Adam knocked again, and finally the door opened. There stood a tiny old woman, with a deeply lined face and hands that trembled as she clutched the door.
“We’re looking for Carol Degas,” I said. “She used to live here.”
“Still does,” the woman said in a reedy voice. “I’m her.”
According to the file, Carol was fifty-two. No matter how hard I looked at this woman, she didn’t appear a day under seventy.
“We’re in town investigating—”
“Brandi’s murder. I figured that was who you were. I’ve been wondering when you’d come see me.” She held open the screen and ushered us in.