Witch Trial

I had to put a small sleep spell on myself after the visit to Sulamith’s, which thankfully worked because otherwise I wouldn’t have gotten an ounce of sleep. I woke Friday morning with a pit in my stomach and a swirling brain. I was worried about beings with bad intent creeping around my store, and now I’d started to worry that someone had hired a genie to get me.

Although Fiona’s presence in my life would hopefully discourage that.

I rolled out of bed and checked my phone to see what time it was. Seven ten. If I got ready quickly I could catch Charlie Klein before he went to the diner to meet his friends, which was his usual routine on Fridays.

I fed the cats and got dressed, skipping my first cup of coffee in favor of getting information. It wasn’t until I got out on the street that I did the mental head smack. I needed to get used to using my powers to make my life easier. It still wasn’t second nature to me. I could’ve had my coffee and gotten ready with a snap of my fingers. I’d probably look a lot better than I did now, too.

I cut through the back alley and my parking lot, crossing the street to Charlie’s lot just as he emerged from his doorway. He lived above his barbershop—had for the past fifty or so years. His lot looked so empty without Syd’s store.

Charlie saw me coming and raised his hand in a wave. I hurried over and fell into step beside him. “How are you, Violet?” he asked.

“I’m doing okay, Charlie. You?”

“Any day on this side of the dirt is a good day,” he said with a grin.

“I completely agree. Hey, do you have a few minutes to talk?”

He looked at me curiously. “I’m on my way for breakfast with the boys, but I can take a few minutes for a pretty lady, sure thing.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Pete’s okay?”

I knew it wasn’t—Charlie liked Pete just fine, but he wasn’t big into “fancy coffee,” as he put it. But today I didn’t wait for an answer, just linked arms and steered him there.

I bought him a black coffee and we settled at a table in the back. “What’s so important that you brought me to this fancy-pants place?” he asked, looking around as if he were on another planet.

“Charlie, how do you know Sylvia Townsend?”

He looked at me curiously. “Now why do you want to know that?”

I shifted a little self-consciously in my chair. “Because I saw you with her at that law office earlier this week.”

“Did you now?” He sipped his coffee. “Well, that’s right. Sylvia and I had some business a few years back, and we were thinking of revisiting that business.”

It sounded very stealthy. I tried not to show my impatience. “I’m asking because ...” I trailed off, not entirely sure how to articulate this. “I got kind of pulled into this Nicole St. James mess and I told Ginny I would help her look into it. She was worried that the police ... weren’t taking it seriously enough. And since Nicole worked for Sylvia and they’d been on the outs until then, I was curious.”

Charlie didn’t speak for a while, just sipped his coffee and studied me. Finally he spoke. “If you’re thinking Sylvia had something to do with that woman’s death, you’re dead wrong.”

I blinked. That was pretty direct. “Okay. Why do you say so?”

“Why would you think she did?” he countered.

“Because it seems weird that they didn’t talk for years, then all of a sudden Nicole leaves her job and goes back to work for her and they’re friendly again, then she ends up dead and Sylvia was meeting with her old firm and an old client right after that.” There. I’d said it out loud.

Charlie sat back in his chair. “So you think she just, what? Lured her back into the fold so she could take her to the park and beat her over the head? You’ve certainly cut right to the chase, haven’t you?”

It sounded a little silly as he said it, but people have done worse. “Look. I just want to know what the deal is,” I said. “I know they’re looking at her boyfriend, but he’s missing and I started to wonder, what if it’s shortsighted to just assume it’s him?”

Charlie didn’t answer, but he seemed to be deep in thought.

“Charlie?” I prompted after a minute.

He refocused on me.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked. “Because it’s been almost a week now and they don’t seem to have any leads. Except Strand, who they can’t find.”

“You remember Eddie Mathers?” he asked.

I racked my brain for the name, which sounded familiar. Then it hit me. “Your friend,” I said. “The one who was forced out of his store.”

Charlie nodded. I could see the sorrow in his eyes. I’d recently learned that Eddie Mathers—who’d been Charlie’s best friend for most of his life, including through their time in Vietnam together—had been forced out of his store when the city council had raised rents. The store had been his life. He’d owned it forever and his wife had passed away so he didn’t have much else. Once he’d shut down, he moved to Florida and committed suicide not long after. I knew Charlie still mourned his friend, and it was one of the reasons why he took a contrary view to a lot of the city council’s actions. But I had no idea what he had to do with Nicole St. James.

“Eddie had a son. His name was Ed Junior. Would’ve been close to fifty now. Was a local businessperson, too.”

I frowned. “Would’ve been? Did something happen to him?”

“He went missing. About fifteen years ago. Rumor was, he’d embezzled funds and cheated his business partner, then took off. I never bought it.” Charlie’s watery eyes held mine. “He loved his dad. His mother got sick right around then, too. He wouldn’ta left like that. And he sure as anything was no thief.”

“So why did everyone think that?” I asked.

“Everyone didn’t,” Charlie said. “But it was the story that got told so much it became fact.”

“Okay. So who told the story?”

“His business partner,” Charlie said. “Jackson Bogart.”

I let that sink in. The memory of searing my hand on my jacket after Bogart touched it rushed into my mind.

“What was their business?” I asked.

“Contractors,” Charlie said. “The business Bogart still owns.”

“Okay,” I said again, trying to piece this together. “I still don’t see—”

“I helped Eddie try to get justice for his son. Eddie believed that something had happened to Ed Junior. He didn’t trust Bogart one whit, especially when he began trashing Ed all over town. We tried to get the police to investigate more but they didn’t seem to want to put in a lot of effort. Bogart has a lot of money.” He said the word like it was a curse.

“So what happened?” I asked.

“They couldn’t prove anything, and Bogart used his money to shield himself. So I reached out to Sylvia. She knew my daughter.”

Charlie’s daughter had also died years ago. He and Eddie Mathers had a lot in common, I realized. But Charlie found a reason to keep living.

“Sylvia tried to put together a civil suit against Bogart years ago, claiming they’d covered up misconduct relating to Ed Junior. The court eventually threw it out for lack of evidence. Nothing ever came of it.”

“So you and Eddie thought ...” I lowered my voice and looked around the cafe. No one paid any attention to us. “That Bogart ... did something to Ed Junior?”

Charlie nodded grimly. “There was no other good answer. Ed and Bogart had their differences over the years. Unfortunately Ed had gotten himself into some trouble back then that, well, made the story of him stealing and running easier for some to swallow. Not his family. They knew him enough to know that was all nonsense.”

“Charlie, what were you and Sylvia doing at that law office the other day?” I asked.

“Sylvia is working on a new case, based on new information. That’s all I can tell you,” Charlie said.

“A new case involving Ed Junior?” I asked.

He nodded.

“And Jackson Bogart,” I said.

Charlie held my gaze but said nothing.

I took that as a yes.