Bad to the Crone Read online

  Rupert was very clearly obsessed with “oregano” and avoiding the cops, so I wasn’t convinced that was true. Still, Gunner knew the situation better. It was probably best to let him handle things ... for now.

  “Okay then.” Gunner lightly rested his hand on my back and prodded me toward the parking lot. “Thanks for your time, Rupert. You can go back to what you were doing.”

  “Oh, well, thank you for your permission.” Rupert’s agitated expression didn’t fade, but he looked relieved to be dismissed so quickly.

  I waited until we were out of earshot to ask the obvious question. “That’s it? You’re simply going to believe him?”

  “Of course not. There’s nothing we can do during daylight hours, though. If someone is messing with the graves they’re not doing it when just anyone could walk up on them. This sort of thing takes the cover of darkness.”

  “Does that mean we’re coming back after dark?”

  “What do you think?”

  I groaned at his charming smile. “I think you’re having far too much fun with this assignment.”

  He sobered. “‘Fun’ isn’t the word I would use. Still, it can’t hurt to come back. Something doesn’t feel right here.”

  “What was your first clue?”

  “Rupert,” he answered simply. “I know for a fact he doesn’t check on the graves daily. He gets by because no one else wants this job.”

  “So?”

  “So he was firm that no one and nothing had touched Herbert’s grave. How could he know that unless he decided to check for himself?”

  That was a very good question. “So, that means we need to check.”

  “You’re catching on quickly.”

  Sometimes it didn’t feel that way.

  Ten

  “Where’s our next stop?” I asked as I grabbed my helmet from my bike seat and watched Gunner. “If we can’t come back to the cemetery until later ... ?”

  “That doesn’t mean we’re out of options,” Gunner replied. “We need information about Herbert’s body. That means talking to the other person who had access after his death.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” I drawled. “Who has access to dead bodies around here?”

  “The mortician.”

  “Oh.” I was momentarily taken aback. “I didn’t even think about that. Of course the mortician would have access to a body. Where is the funeral home?” I pictured what Hawthorne Hollow called a Main Street. “There’s no funeral parlor down there.”

  “No, but there is one out on the highway. It serves three towns, not just one.”

  “I guess that makes sense. Hawthorne Hollow can’t possibly have enough people to keep a funeral parlor busy.”

  “You might be surprised.”

  I waited for him to expound. When he didn’t, I merely shot him an exasperated look. “So ... are we going to the funeral parlor or not?”

  He smirked. “You’re not big on patience, are you?”

  “Not even a little,” I agreed. “People say patience is a virtue. I find it’s simply a way to delay things. I don’t like delay.”

  “Sometimes waiting is its own reward,” he teased, his eyes filling with mirth.

  Something about the way he delivered the sentence had me wondering if he was flirting with me. The mere thought was enough to cause my cheeks to burn and stomach to churn. I didn’t come to Hawthorne Hollow for this ... and I most certainly had no intention of staying. Of course, he might not have been flirting. He could simply have been sharing a nugget of wisdom that he happened to believe in. Sure, it was a nugget that you could find in any fortune cookie, but that didn’t mean he didn’t believe it.

  Wait ... what were we talking about again?

  “Earth to Scout.” He mimed knocking on my temple to get my attention, his eyes lighting with interest as I jerked in surprise. “Where did your head go just now?”

  “Um ... it’s attached to my body. Where would it go?” The annoyance I felt was directed inward instead of at him, although he didn’t need to know that. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh.” He gathered his helmet from his motorcycle — I was glad to see it wasn’t gaudy with large flames or some big-breasted woman adorning the side panels — and tugged it over his head. “Follow me out to the highway. It’s about a twenty-minute drive. The road is mostly clear, but fairly curvy. I’m sure you can keep up.”

  Oh, now he was just messing with me. “Maybe you should be the one trying to keep up with me,” I challenged. “Have you considered that?”

  He snickered. “No. You don’t know where we’re going.”

  “Well ... I could instinctively figure it out. You’d be impressed if I did that.”

  “I’d be more impressed if you simply looked at me as your partner in this instead of your competition.”

  Crap. He picked up on that. It usually takes people days to uncover the fact that I like to win at all costs. Well, he would just have to deal with it. Or I would have to lie and divert. Yeah, that was an even better idea.

  “Can we just get going? The faster we figure out what’s going on with this dead guy, the faster I can return home and finish putting up the curtains to keep Peeping Tim out.”

  “And spend time with your cat,” Gunner added, preparing to kick-start his bike. It didn’t surprise me that he was old school on that front. Me? I was fine with an electric start. Purists called it sacrilege, but I didn’t always have the physical strength for a kick-start engine. The first bike I had was a kick-start, so I was nostalgic at times, but in the grand scheme of things — especially if you were ever in a hurry or running for your life from a monster — electric start engines were far more practical.

  “You really should give him a name,” he continued. “You’re a geek, so how about Who? You know, like after Doctor Who?”

  He was a laugh a second, this guy. “I’m starting to think you’re the geek given all your pop culture knowledge.” I tugged my helmet over my head. “Maybe you’re the one who should name him.”

  “No, he’s yours. He wants you to name him.”

  “Maybe I’ve never named anything before.”

  He stilled. “Never? You never had a pet?”

  “You can’t have pets in a group home.”

  “I know, but ... .” He trailed off, uncertain. “Then you should give it some serious thought,” he said after a beat, recovering. “You don’t want the kitten to feel slighted. He might try to murder you in your sleep or something. He’ll decapitate mice and put them in your bed as payback.”

  I scowled. “You’re definitely the geek.”

  “I am,” he agreed. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Part of me didn’t believe I would be around long enough for that to happen. The other part hoped that was true. There was something about him that felt warm and welcoming ... but I had no idea if I would feel the same way in several days.

  THE DUNCAN AND SWAN FUNERAL Home sat on a prime piece of land in the middle of the highway that separated Hawthorne Hollow from Charlevoix. The lake glistened under the sunlight as we churned through road, and I couldn’t stop myself from staring in that direction, occasionally mesmerized by the shiny surface.

  Gunner was clearly familiar with the terrain, because he stared at the water often, never once panicking that he would somehow miss the turnoff to the funeral home. And, when we arrived I understood why he wasn’t worried. The structure in front of us was huge ... and unbelievably gaudy.

  “Wow!” I rolled my neck as I removed my helmet and peered at what could only be described as a mansion in the middle of nowhere. “This place is ... huge.”

  “It’s big,” Gunner agreed, dropping his helmet so it hung from his handlebars and unbuttoning his leather coat. Most people would find the idea of a biker wearing a leather jacket to be cliché, but I found the figure Gunner cut in the tight fabric appealing ... although I was loath to admit it. “It used to belong
to an automotive family back in the forties. Not the Fords or anything, but distributors. They were known as the richest people in the area.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I pulled off my gloves and shoved them into the compartment under the seat. “What happened to them?”

  “Legend has it they were cut off from the town during a storm and angry residents took their revenge in a unique fashion.”

  My forehead wrinkled as I considered the statement. “I don’t understand.”

  “That’s because you’re missing part of the story,” he teased. “The storm was one of those things touted as a massive event. You know, storm of the century and all that. It was basically an inland hurricane.”

  “I don’t remember talk of a storm like that,” I argued, racking my memory. “How can you have a hurricane so far inland?”

  “I said it was basically an inland hurricane. It wasn’t really. It was ... something else.”

  “Something magical?”

  “That’s the rumor. Obviously, it was before my time. This was in the sixties. It was even before my father’s time. My grandfather, though, swore up and down that the storm descended on the area as a form of payback from a local coven. The residents knew the storm was coming.

  “The family who owned this house had plenty of room to offer those in danger refuge from the elements, but they didn’t,” he continued. “The townsfolk cursed them. When the storm hit, everyone in the area buckled down for days. It was terrible, and many people died.”

  “Obviously something happened to the people in the house,” I noted, jerking my thumb in the direction of three-story monstrosity. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have taken the time to tell the story.”

  “The house was empty when rescue personnel arrived,” Gunner replied. “The inhabitants were gone. We’re talking three grown men — not including the staff — and three grown women. All of them disappeared during the storm.”

  “Were any of them ever found?”

  “No.” He dragged a hand through his hair to order it. “People looked for weeks. A reward was offered for information leading to the discovery of their bodies. I mean ... no one thought they survived. It seemed obvious something terrible occurred.”

  “Nothing? Not even stories about what happened to them?”

  “There were stories, of course, but I’m not sure I believe any of them.” He gestured toward the front door. “Either way, they disappeared. Another family moved into the house about two years later, but they soon left because they said the house was haunted.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Do you think the house is haunted?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been in here a good hundred times over the years. I’ve never seen a ghost.”

  That didn’t necessarily mean anything. “Perhaps the ghosts don’t want you to see them.”

  “Perhaps. That’s why I’m warning you. As a hedge witch, you’re more likely to see things that others might’ve missed.”

  I understood his concern. “I’ll be fine. I’ve seen more than my fair share of ghosts.”

  “I don’t doubt that.” He smiled. “I just wanted to make you aware of the story in case you see something once we cross the threshold.”

  “I appreciate your concern.” We fell into step with one another, something occurring to me as we approached the front door. “Just out of curiosity, why didn’t the family allow those in need to hide in the house? There was clearly enough room.”

  “They said that it wasn’t their problem.”

  “So they turned their backs on the community. That’s essentially what you’re saying.”

  “Mostly,” he confirmed. “They also put themselves higher than those who worked for them. They had a plant about twenty miles away. It was the biggest job provider in the area when things went down.”

  “Did the plant survive?”

  “No.”

  “Then how did the community? I mean ... this isn’t an area that has a huge industrial base. If the entire economy was based on that one plant, how did the community survive?”

  “That’s a good question. I honestly don’t know.”

  BART DUNCAN GREETED US with a bright smile and sympathetic eyes. He was clearly used to dealing with the bereaved. He immediately offered us water and comfortable chairs.

  “I hadn’t realized anyone was lost last evening,” he said, his voice gentle. “Was it your grandmother, Graham?”

  I’d almost forgotten Gunner’s real name, so at first, I searched the room for signs of his father. Then reality set in and I had to bite back a laugh at the dark look on Gunner’s face.

  “Don’t call me that,” he complained, wagging his finger. “You’re only doing that because I stole Sheryl Katz from you sophomore year and you feel the need to get back at me.”

  Bart chuckled. “I wondered if you’d realize what I was doing. I saw your grandmother this morning. She was ... her usual self. That’s how I knew you weren’t here on personal business. Although ... .” He trailed off as his eyes drifted to me.

  “This is Scout,” Gunner offered, leaning back in his seat and extending his legs. “She’s new with my group.”

  “Really?” Intrigued, Bart looked me up and down. “You have the right appearance to fit in with that crowd. Although ... you look city rather than country. You fit in and yet you’re somehow exotic. I get why you’ve been spending so much time with her, Gunner. She’s a welcome addition to the town.”

  Gunner scowled. “Who told you I’ve been spending time with her for any reason other than a professional one?”

  “I believe it would be best if I didn’t answer that. I don’t want to ruin a friendship.”

  “Brandon.” He growled. “He won’t shut up. He’s got very specific ideas, which are ridiculous.”

  Bart’s gaze caught mine for a long beat and then he smiled. “I think maybe Brandon knows what he’s talking about, but now isn’t the time. What are you doing here? If you’re not in need of my services you must have something else on your mind.”

  “I want to talk about Herbert Jones.”

  Bart’s eyebrows migrated up his forehead. “Herbert? I thought for sure you were here about Hal. I was going to make you work for it a bit longer.”

  “What about Hal?” Gunner asked, wrinkling his nose. “I thought the state police still had the body because of the nature of his death.”

  “They do, but Father Bram has been kicking up a storm about it.” Bart was clearly comfortable with gossip. He didn’t bother to temper his voice, instead adjusting his suit jacket so it lay smoothly as he continued without glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “The state police have some special medical examiner going over the body. Father Bram is threatening to take them to court if they don’t turn it over right away.”

  I was confused. “Why would Father Bram have jurisdiction over the body?”

  Bart shrugged. “He claims that Hal was part of the congregation, which makes him family. He’s demanding the state police relinquish the body to his care.”

  “What do you have to do with that?” Gunner asked. “I was under the impression you didn’t want anything to do with All Souls Church after the last time they tried to stiff you on a bill.”

  “Oh, I most definitely want nothing to do with that church,” Bart confirmed. “I find Father Bram obnoxious and weird. But I didn’t have much of a choice once my sister stuck her nose into things and demanded I help.”

  I was still catching up ... and I hated being behind. “Your sister?”

  Bart bobbed his head. “Cecily. She’s a bit of a ... nut. I know it sounds horrible for me to say that, but she is. My parents let her run wild as a child and now she’s crazy. They’re gone, but someone has to keep an eye on her. I’m basically the only one who can, so I’m often the one left to deal with her antics.”

  “You’re Cecily’s brother?” I took a moment to wrap my head around the revelation. “I met her at the church yesterday when I stopped to ask questions. She thre
w dirt on me. Er, well, I guess it was dust. It was gross all the same. Apparently she didn’t think I was pure enough to cross the threshold.”

  “Don’t take that personally,” Bart admonished. “She doesn’t know what she’s doing and saying half the time. I don’t mean that as an excuse. She honestly doesn’t know. Father Bram doesn’t help things, because he encourages her nuttiness.”

  I looked to Gunner for help and found him watching me with contemplative eyes. “What?”

  “I forgot you went to the church yesterday,” he noted. “We didn’t much talk about that with everything else going on. Did you find anything of interest?”

  I shook my head. “No. Father Bram is kind of a creeper ... and not the sort who peeks through your bedroom window. He gives off a bad vibe.”

  “He certainly does,” Bart agreed. “He’s a kook. Still, when Cecily called and asked me to help, I was curious enough to place a call to the medical examiner’s office. I really had no intention of inserting myself into the situation, but the secretary there is the chatty sort and she said that Father Bram was threatening to bring down hellfire and destruction on the entire office if they didn’t back off.”

  “That seems a rather extreme reaction,” I noted. “When I stopped by, Father Bram acted surprised when I told him about Hal’s death.”

  “You say ‘acted,’” Gunner noted. “Do you think he was trying to put on a show?”

  “Honestly? Yeah. I simply can’t decide what show he was putting on. He was all over the place.”

  “He’s not exactly known for being stable,” Gunner said. “The gossip about Hal is definitely interesting and requires more thought. We’re more interested in hearing about Herbert, though. You handled his arrangements, too, right?”

  Bart immediately shook his head.

  “You didn’t?” Gunner rubbed his hands over his knees, confused. “I thought for sure you were in charge of that ceremony.”

  “Probably because I’m in charge of ninety percent of the ceremonies in this region,” Bart countered. “I wasn’t asked to be involved in that one, though. You know I had a falling out with All Souls more than a year ago. I told Father Bram then that I wouldn’t handle services for his congregation because it was too stressful. I only agreed to place a call about Hal because Cecily wouldn’t shut up about it.”