We pulled up to the house. The front yard had grass that was tall enough for a small child to hide in. What once must have been a well thought out, organized rose garden was just a wild, out of control tangle of thorny stems with the occasional voluminous rose bloom. The unmanaged flower bushes lined the path to the front door. Window boxes beneath the two front windows overflowed with dark matted mounds of dead plants. It was the only shabby house in an otherwise pretty and nicely kept neighborhood.
"Wanda Wonder doesn't seem to be much into gardening." Lacey's nose crinkled at the unruly, overgrown landscaping. She turned to me. "I don't understand. How do we get inside to talk to her? I've worked cases without James a few times, and there were so many obstacles between me and potential witnesses and suspects, I nearly threw in the sleuthing towel."
I reached for my purse. "It's definitely easier when you're accompanied by someone with a badge. Which is why I brought mine. Only it's a little different than a police badge." I held up my press pass from the Junction Times. "I'm supposed to be covering the flea market for next week's paper, but I think the death of a local shopkeeper is much more exciting."
Lacey, who seemed baffled at first when I held up my press pass, caught on quickly. Her confusion morphed into happy comprehension. "You need to interview witnesses and local people who knew the victim."
"Exactly. I've found that people are always happy to talk to reporters if it means getting their names and opinions in the paper. Unless, of course, they have something to hide." I clipped the press pass onto my sweater.
"I guess we'll find that out." We climbed out of the jeep. Lacey tugged at my arm as we walked up the driveway. "Who will I be? Wanda saw us together last night."
"Yes, but we were never fully introduced. I'll tell her you're an intern for a city paper and you're shadowing me to learn the craft of journalism."
Lacey reached into her purse and pulled out a notebook and pen. "Perfect. I even brought my own props. It's a little something I learned from James. Always carry a notepad and pen because you just never know when someone will wind up dead."
"I like the way you think, Miss Pinkerton."
We scooted and turned side to side to avoid the thorny rose bush stems. Lacey's purse brushed past a flower and its petals fell to the ground.
Lacey stared down at the pile of yellow petals. "I feel bad. That poor flower survived living in terrible conditions with no one to care for it and my big, clumsy purse just took it out."
"We need to thank your big clumsy purse. That is a yellow rose." It only took a second for Lacey to figure out why I was stating the obvious.
She pointed at me. "You're right. A yellow rose. Good work, partner."
Music thrummed through the house signaling that Wanda was home. I prepared my journalist's speech as we climbed the two front steps to the door. Most of the blue paint was peeling off in long strips. I pushed the bell but didn't hear it ring inside so I decided to add a knock, one that was loud enough to be heard over the music, which was a beautiful Celtic sounding ballad, according to my non-expert ears.
The door swung open and a cloud of musty sage rolled out. Lacey rubbed her nose. Wanda eyed us suspiciously under her curtain of streaked bangs. She was wearing a black tank shirt with the words Witchy World and a triple moon pentacle emblazoned across the chest. "Yes? Can I help you?" I knew she recognized us form the night before but she pretended we were strangers.
"Hello, Wanda," I said and lifted my pass. "I'm Sunni Taylor from the Junction Times. And Miss Pinkerton is shadowing me, learning the venerable art of journalism." A touch of cocky always gave a nice air of confidence, which, in turn, with any luck, would get us through the door.
She took a fleeting glance at the press pass. "I don't understand." There was enough chill in her tone to assure us that she was not one of those open, candid, let's chat kind of gals.
"I don't know if you noticed us last night. Minnie had invited us to take part in your Mabon Apple Harvest Rite. It was destined to be a lovely event, by the way. I'm so sorry it ended the way it did."
"Minnie was always big on inviting outsiders to our events. That will change now that I'm in charge."
It seemed we were going to be stuck doing a hasty, inconclusive interview on the front stoop. I was waiting for the door to be slammed in our faces any second when Lacey perked up. "Is that the Gothard Sisters? I love their music." She added a cute little jig to go along with the beat and, with that, managed to charm herself (and her speechless mentor) right through the front door.
"They're one of my favorites too," Wanda said, some of the ice thawed from her tone. "I'm cleaning house. It always seems to go faster when I have them playing in the background."
A bucket with a mop stood in the center of a white tile kitchen floor, but rather than smell the usual cleaning chemicals, the fresh scent of citrus wafted around the room, mingling with the musky odor of burnt sage. Wanda's house was filled with colorful rugs, gossamer curtains and candles. So many candles. A white sage smudge, a bundle of the dried herb leaves, sat smoldering in a bright blue glass bowl on the coffee table. Next to the bowl was a large, ornate looking book that seemed to be old or at the very least made to look old. It had a brass lock and the pages were slightly rough and yellowed around the edges.
"Are you writing an article about Minnie's murder?" Wanda asked. She tossed the rag she was carrying on a chair. "I talked to the police last night. I don't know any more than the two of you." She turned on that edge of defensiveness I'd heard often during my investigations. I'd discovered it was a natural reaction and didn't necessarily mean the person had something to hide.
"I've decided to write an article about her life, more as a tribute to a unique person and shop owner in the community," I said. "I know you belonged to the same coven. Judging by the nice collection of candles, I assume you shopped at Minnie's store often."
A short dry laugh escaped her. "These candles are far superior to the ones Minnie sold. I drive into the city when I need Wiccan supplies. Mikhaila's Den of Sage is a much bigger store and worth the thirty mile trip. I've never shopped at Minnie's store."
"I see. I just assumed that you two were close."
Lacey made herself busy, pretending to be interested in the books and crystals displayed on a shelf in the small living room. She swayed happily to the fiddle music as it chirped through the speakers overhead. Wanda didn't seem to mind her snooping around. I was sure it had to do with Lacey's quick and clever mention of the wonderful Celtic music.
Wanda straightened some scarves draped over a hat rack. "No, we weren't the least bit close. The rest of my sisters, my coven, are good friends, but Minnie and I rarely spoke. We had very different ideas on how to run things. Like our difference of opinion on inviting outsiders to our ceremonies. I personally think a person has to show a commitment and loyalty to the Wiccan lifestyle to join in a rite or celebration."
"Yes, I can see your point," I said, "and I apologize if you thought we were intruding last night." I'd always found that with less forward and friendly interviewees, over-the-top kindness helped.
Wanda shook her head to brush the bangs from her eyes. "Not a problem. I noticed you came with Raine. She's sort of an unofficial member of the coven. She doesn't practice the Wiccan way but she understands our connection with mother earth and nature. Besides, it was a good thing you two were there. I confess, I've never been close to a dead body. I was more than a little freaked out when I saw Minnie in the trunk. Have the police found the killer?" she asked in a way that seemed to be saying see me asking about the killer, I'm letting you know I had nothing to do with it. It was hardly an alibi. I wondered if the police had already zeroed in on possible suspects.
"Not sure. Like you said, we know as much as you." I smiled Lacey's direction. She was giving the room a nice scrutiny all under the guise of admiring Wanda's collection of trinkets. Two pewter dragons, each with a crystal on their tail, held up two red candles in the center of a floating shelf. The dragons were surrounded by tiny glass bottles filled with herbs.
"One thing is for sure," Wanda said. "Minnie had her share of enemies."
The statement perked up my partner's ears too. She sidled her way back through the maze of furniture for a closer listen.
"Is that right?" I asked. "I'm surprised. She struck me as such a friendly, sweet woman."
Wanda scoffed. "Hardly. Her ex-husband, Roland, hated her, and I don't think she ever talked to her sister. They were identical twins. Etta lived only a few miles away but they never spoke. At least, that's what I've heard. Again, Minnie and I rarely had contact outside our rituals and meetings. So I don't think I can help at all with your article."
We were being dismissed it seemed, but we'd gotten in the door (thanks to Lacey). I wasn't quite ready to give up the quest. "I understand that Minnie was the high priestess of the coven, an important position to be sure. Who will take charge of the coven now? Are there—I don't know what you'd call it—elections? Do people campaign for the position?"
She made no attempt to hide an eye roll. "We're not a government office," she said curtly, to assure me she considered my questions ridiculous. My intention exactly. I'd discovered early on that particularly silly questions could often make an interviewee feel haughty and self-important and, most of all, anxious to set the simple minded reporter straight. It seemed my technique had worked again. Rather than shoo us out the door, Wanda explained the process.
"Generally, the Wiccan with the most skills and knowledge is lifted to the position. The other members must be in favor, of course, but that's usually just a formality. Honestly, I never understood how that bumbling woman ever became high priestess in the first place."
"Oh, you mean Minnie?" I feigned ignorance. "Well, if the other members had to come to a consensus, maybe she was just well liked in the coven. Sometimes it's the most popular person who wins class president." I caught myself just short of being patronizing but Wanda didn't seem to notice. "If the coven decides to pick the most skilled and knowledgeable member, who will take over for Minnie?" I already knew the answer. In fact, I'd seen what I would consider just short of coercion the night before. Minnie's body, not completely cold, was just fifteen feet away while Wanda quickly gathered the stunned, shocked group in for some coaxing and good ole fashioned campaigning.
"That still needs to be decided," she said curtly. "Now, I need to get back to cleaning my house before I talk myself out of it."
Lacey and I laughed gently, but our response was genuine because we had both been there and done that. As Wanda ushered us out the door, I decided to toss out one more question.
"Why did Minnie's ex-husband hate her? Was it just an ugly divorce?"
Wanda's mouth pulled tight. She seemed to want to say something but changed her mind. "I'm not sure. I guess that's something you'll have to find out on your own. You're the journalist," she said snidely.
"Right. Good point. Thanks for your time."
Wanda snapped the door shut sharply behind us.
"If the high priestess position was based on charm, that woman wouldn't have a chance," I muttered.
"Couldn't agree more." Lacey and I once again zigged and zagged between the unruly rose bushes. We reached the car and climbed inside.
"By the way," Lacey said as she buckled her seatbelt. "Maybe Aubrey and Nora were onto something last night."
"Really?" I started the jeep.
"That leather bound book with the brass clasp on the table—it was titled The Book of Curses and Spells. They mentioned that Wanda had been dabbling in dark arts."
I backed out of the driveway. "You aren't suggesting that Wanda used a curse to kill Minnie?"
She chuckled. "No, if that's the case, then I pity the prosecutor in the murder trial. But she obviously takes it seriously."
I looked at Lacey and it seemed we had identical thoughts. "Wanda might have been looking for a way to kill Minnie that would leave no trail of evidence," I said. "Like a curse."
"And when the hex didn't work—" Lacey said.
"Then she resorted to murder," I finished. "It's a stretch but I don't think we should cross her off our list."
"Agreed."