A Broom With a View (18 page)

A
s much of an asshole as Mode might have been, he had a point. She hadn’t signed the divorce papers. It was stupid, and she was crazy for not doing it. Something was obviously wrong with her.

But that wasn’t the only thing.

She could
not
let people continue to think she killed Cotton. But she’d tried to see it herself and couldn’t. If
she
didn’t know then who did?

Liza was blocked by her own fears and confusion so a spell wouldn’t work. And because she was blocked, Bryar was, too. There was only one thing left to do–visit the scene of the crime.

Her last and only appointment was at noon so as soon as Lola Ellen Pearson (ecstatic with the way her Pizza Hut “hex” had turned out) left, Liza locked up, buttoned up, covered her newly bald head with a wool cap, and headed out of town. She was going to find where Cotton died and go from there.

Maybe she’d pick something up. Hopefully, nobody would pick
her
up.

“I saw the blood,” she said aloud as she drove along the mountainous road. “I saw myself with all the blood. So I had to be involved. I
had
to be. But I don’t feel like I was…”

Since she couldn’t drive all the way to the exact spot where his body was discovered, she had to park on the side of the road, cross the railroad tracks, and hike about a quarter of a mile.

The ice had melted from the leaves, making them wet and slippery. She tripped more than once, landing on all fours in the mud and debris. With a wet coat and wet pants and mud seeping through her knitted gloves, she was starting to freeze and think her adventure useless until she reached the area with the bright yellow police tape.

“Huh,” Liza murmured as she walked around the rectangular shape. She felt a little thrill of excitement, in spite of the situation. It was like being on
CSI
. “So this is where they found him.”

Well, she knew without a doubt that she’d never been there before. Although she wasn’t afraid of the dark, there was no way she’d have been out there by herself, in a place she didn't know, trying to kill a man.

So what had happened?

Her vision had showed blood on her hands. But did that mean she’d actually killed him, or just had a hand in killing him? Was she guilty without actually being responsible?

Possibly.

“Well. Shit,” Liza cursed, stomping her mud-covered Uggs.

There was nothing left of the crime scene, other than the disturbed bed of leaves and a slight hole in the ground, presumably from where he had fallen.

Liza knelt by the tape and closed her eyes. She could see him then, see Cotton. He wasn’t running towards the location, but stumbling. His bulk had him heaving, unable to travel quickly. As he moved, he weaved, like perhaps he was intoxicated (although toxicology had found nothing more than Benadryl in his system). He held his head in his meaty hand, grimacing as though in awful pain. His face was red and contorted, but there was confusion there as well, and as he neared the sectioned-off spot, he stopped, looked up at the moon, howled a little like a coyote, and then plunged to the ground.

“Shit,” she said again, because sometimes when all other words failed, the bad ones were still the best. “Shit, damn, fugger nut.” (Because she could still feel Nana Bud’s influence and energy around her and while her beloved grandmother might have cursed like a sailor, she hated the “f word” with a passion and Liza just couldn’t risk a tree branch dropping on her head. Not when she was having a good makeup day.)

So what happened then? A stroke? A heart attack? An embolism?

All of those would’ve shown up on any autopsy worth a damn. So what had happened? And why
here
?

Had she killed him and not known it?

Damn
, Liza thought with a little bit of pride.
I’m better than I thought.

Now, how was she going to afford an attorney and keep herself out of jail?

LIZA WAS CLOSER
to figuring out what had happened; she
knew
she was.

In her purse, tucked safely away in a plastic baggie and sealed tightly, she’d gathered several of the leaves from the spot where Cotton’s body collapsed. She’d also dressed in a pure white linen gown (even with the heat fixed, thanks to Whistle, it was still too damn cold to go naked) and left off the scarf. She wore no shoes, no socks, and no makeup.

She was ready. She would put an
end
to this.

It if it was true, if she’d killed him, intentionally or not, then that would be the end of her spells. It would be clearly obvious that she couldn’t control herself and was not to be trusted.

Liza was just about to carry the rest of her supplies upstairs when a pounding on the door stopped her in her tracks. Sighing in frustration, Liza put everything down on the bottom stair and shuffled to the front door, her bare feet cold against the hardwood floors. She yearned for her fluffy socks with the unicorns on them, but they seemed a little insensitive for the ritual she was about to perform, so she'd left them off.

She’d left the hot pink nail polish on, though. Her feet didn’t have to be
ugly
, after all.

Colt stood on the other side, all smiles and arms full of a large wicker basket. “Presents from the family,” he announced. “And me.”

And then his smile fell flatter than a hoe cake at the sight of her head.

“Dear God,” he cried. “What happened? I’d sue if I were you. You didn’t go to Sunny & Shears did you? I went to high school with her. Wouldn’t trust her with one of my trees.”

Frustration forgotten, Liza leaned over and sniffed. “Is that banana nut bread?”

Colt nodded. “And muffins and cookies and I don’t know what else. But don’t change the damn subject. What the hell happened?”

“I can’t tell you,” Liza hedged awkwardly. She wasn’t ready and slightly embarrassed to admit it had been for his sister. She didn’t want him thinking she’d done it to win him over or something stupidly female.

Without an invitation, Colt shook his head in disbelief and sauntered into the house. He made his way to the kitchen where he placed the basket on the table and then turned to face Liza who had followed him. “Also, I’ve got to tell you; they are already shopping for you.”

“Shopping?” she asked, more than shocked. “For what? I have plenty of stuff.”

“Not for a Christmas tree you don’t,” he chided her. “Filly has already picked out the tree on my farm, which I am meant to be chopping down tomorrow, and the rest of the girls are busy in town picking out ornaments. It’s going to be a hodgepodge of mermaids, fairies, and unicorn stuff. I don’t know what all they’re cooking up. I didn’t have a part of that. I even left Bridle propped up in front of the fire, knitting a tree skirt. She looked damn near chipper. Damndest thing I’ve ever seen. Just be forewarned.”

“But why?” she asked, flabbergasted.

Although Liza
was
starting to feel a little sad that she didn’t have any decorations up. Driving down Main Street had revealed that she was apparently the only person in town who didn’t have anything out. And some people had gone all out, no matter what kind of condition the house was in.

Liza had actually seen one house with broken windows, a sagging porch, and garbage spilled out in the front yard, but there were lights thrown over everything that couldn’t move and am illuminated Santa nailed to the roof.

And then there was the house with the tree carved to look like a penis. Well, it was
meant
to look like a morel mushroom but the two had striking similarities when it came right down to it. The homeowner had stuck an illuminated Rudolph on the tiptop of the mushroom head. Liza affectionately nicknamed it “the wee wee tree.”

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it,” Liza said sincerely, feeling touched and close to tears. Damn, she was getting sentimental. “I haven’t decorated in a while. Mode wasn’t home for Christmas much, and it just seemed sad to do it alone.”

“Alone?” Colt snorted. “My whole fam damily will be over here to help you, hot chocolate and all. Only we do it Bluevine style–a shot of Baileys for a little kick.”

“Sounds like my kind of cocoa.”

He stood in front of her then, looking like a little boy with raindrops falling from his baseball cap. “But listen, I had another question for you. I was wondering if maybe you could come over and, um, just have dinner with me one night. Kind of like a date.”

Liza froze, the divorce papers two rooms away calling to her: “Liza, you slut! Liza you ho! Liza you–“

Oh, shut up
, she mentally snapped.

Instead, she reached out and touched his hand, cold and strong in her own smooth, warm one. “Colt, listen, I want to. I
really
do. I want to hear you play that guitar for me again. I want you to make me dinner because I like you and because I am hungry. I want to sit in front of your fire and curl into your chair and…”

“But you won’t will you?”

“I can’t,” she said sadly, letting his hand fall. “I just can’t. Not yet. You don’t know who I am, or
what
I am.”

“I know what you are Liza,” he said gently, touching her face with damp fingers that even with their chill warmed her. “You are a fine, sincere, funny woman. And you’re even pretty with that ugly haircut.”

“But there’s something else,” she said, smiling a little at his last comment.

“I know,” he replied stubbornly. “And I
don’t
care.”

But Mode had said that as well. And he’d been wrong. Over time, he
had
cared. She knew it wasn’t fair to compare Colt to Mode but she couldn’t do that again.
She
needed to know what she was, who she was, of what she was capable.

She had to know those things before she let anyone else in.

“I need some time. I need to figure me out.”

Colt nodded but looked hurt. He started towards the door and had his hand on the knob before he turned and looked at her again. “I had to do that, too, Liza Jane. I had to figure out what I was and where I needed to be. And I did. I belong here. And you do too. You’ll see.”

And then she was left alone–bare feet, bald head, banana nut bread, and all.

I
t was after midnight, and Liza couldn’t sleep. Every dead person she’d ever lost had visited her in her dreams, giving her random pieces of advice and talking over one another so loudly and with such intensity that she’d finally had to wake up to make them all shut up.

Her great aunt Agnes had been particularly vocal and she'd never even met her.

“Oh for God’s sake, cut it out,” Liza’d hollered into her pillow. “I get it; I
get
it.”

And she
did
get it. She knew what she had to do.

Again.

And
this
time, she’d do it right.

At 12:30 in the morning she slipped into fleece-lined jeans from LL Bean, threw on two layers of flannel shirts, and then buttoned up her black wool coat. Lastly, for luck, she stuck on one of Nana Bud’s old white crocheted hats.

She looked like a homeless hipster, but at least she was warm.

A little blinking light on her phone signified a new voicemail. She knew it was from Detective Kroner but, for now, she ignored it. If she were right, she’d have news for him soon enough. Good news.

And then maybe he’d never bother her again. That would be great news.

The roads were treacherous, covered in black ice that had her sliding from one lane to the other. The county only had two snow plows. Once it finally
did
snow, they’d have their hands full. And
her
driveway would not be a priority.

She needed to make friends with some snow plow guys ASAP. But first things first. First she had to prove she wasn’t a mind killer.

It didn’t take long to reach the spot where she’d need to park to reach the location where Cotton’s body was discovered. When she pulled over to the side of the road, however, she hit a patch of ice, and her tire went over the embankment into the ditch.

“Well, shit,” she grumbled. Well, she’d worry about that in a minute. Nobody was looking. She’d fix it when she had to.

In the meantime, she had other things on her mind.

Using her flashlight, Liza braced herself against the howling wind and ice pellets and made her way to the police tape. She might have been a witch and in tune with nature but she was still scared to be out in the middle of the night by herself. It was creepy as hell and every dark shadow made her jump. As a kid, she’d been terrified of
The Wizard of Oz
and those darn flying monkeys and, to be honest, they still gave her the creeps.

It was all still there, the police tape that was. Nothing had been disturbed. But then she recalled the leaves she’d taken with her, the ones she’d slipped under her mattress back at home. She’d hoped they’d tell her something in her dreams.

And they, along with all her head relatives, had.

Now, Liza turned her back to the police tape and faced the direction of her car again. Rather than walk the path that would take her straight to it, however, she began to walk diagonally. The icy wind was at her back now and pushed her forward, freezing her to the bone. She didn’t care. She was on a
mission
.

It didn’t take long until the train tracks were in sight. A train was currently coming down the track about a hundred yards away, moving much faster than she’d anticipated. The noise was astounding and the wind it kicked up chilled her blood and bones. She’d never been that close to a moving train before, and it actually blew the hat off her head. Liza waited until it passed on by before retrieving the hat, now mud-covered, and pulling it back down over her ears.

Using her high-beam flashlight she scanned the ground near the tracks over and over again, looking for the things that could mean the difference between her reputation and jail time.

It took twenty minutes of stumbling over rocks and sticks and leaves, and she was just about to give up when she finally saw it.

There, poking through the wet leaves, was a steel-toed work boot. If one hadn’t been looking for it intentionally, they might have missed it. Indeed, several people
had
probably walked right over it and either not seen it or not realized its significance.

“Ah ha!” Liza cried as she whipped out her digital camera. The flash nearly blinded her in the blackness of the night, but her excitement was overwhelming.

After taking several shots and being careful not to move the boot, she moved on a little bit further and trained her eyes and flashlight upwards.

She was right again.

There, hanging from a skeletal tree branch, was a pair of glasses. Although the lens was missing from one side, they still caught the glare of Liza’s flashlight and nearly blinded her.

Feeling vindicated, and not caring about the late hour, she first made a call to Colt.

“Stay right where you are,” he warned her. “I’ll be right there. Do not move.”

And then she called the police.