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Authors: Bill Crider

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BOOK: Bond With Death

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“
A
re you sure you don't want to go to the emergency room?” Seepy asked.

Sally said she was sure.

“The EMTs fixed me up just fine.”

Her throat was greasy with antibiotic ointment, and she'd been given some anti-inflammatory pills, three of which she'd taken. The EMTs had also checked her for a concussion, but she'd been fine in that respect.

“You sound like that singer from when I was a lot younger. What was her name?”

Sally said she didn't know.

“âBette Davis Eyes.' That one. Remember?”

“Kim Carnes,” Sally said, her voice rasping out.

Her throat didn't feel quite as bad on the inside as her neck looked on the outside, but it was sore.

“That's her,” Seepy said. “Kim Carnes. How could I have forgotten.”

They were in Sally's den. Sally was on the couch, and Seepy was in a chair, holding his straw hat, which had been crushed in his struggle with the Jacksons. His guitar case was on the floor beside him. He hadn't looked inside it.

Lola was lying on top of the guitar case, shedding all over the nylon. She had come out from under the bed only after the police had
left. She had looked around as if to check on what all the fuss had been about, and her eye had settled almost at once on the guitar case. She took it over at once, in spite of Seepy's proximity. It had taken her a while to get used to him, as he didn't seem bothered at all by her hissing. After a while she'd given up on trying to intimidate him, curled into a calico ball, and gone to sleep.

“It sounds kind of sexy,” Seepy said. “Kim Carnes's voice, I mean. Yours, too.”

Sally supposed he was either trying to compliment her or make her feel better, but she didn't care how she sounded. She was tired, her living room was a mess, she was going to have to get a new ceiling fan, the door frame would need repair and paint, and she hurt all over. Her neck was bruised and sore both inside and out, and she had a knot on her forehead, an aching shoulder, and rug burns on her knees.

“I think that policeman is a little upset with you,” Seepy said.

Sally knew that he was referring to Lieutenant Weems, who had arrived shortly after the uniformed officers.

“He's always upset with somebody,” Sally said.

She had given a long statement to Weems, who somewhere in the course of it had told her that the Jacksons had admitted that they'd met with the Garden Gnome the night of his death. They had not, however, admitted killing him.

Sally had pointed out that they'd certainly tried to kill her, and she'd explained her theory that they'd killed Curtin because of his association with witchcraft.

“They're a little crazy on the subject,” Sally had said, touching her throat with her fingertips.

Weems had agreed with her about the craziness of the Jacksons, but he'd gone on to say something about the difference in the MO in the two instances.

“I'm wondering why they didn't hang Curtin. If they thought that was the right thing to do to witches, why not hang him, too?”

“You saw him,” Sally had said. “He was short, but he was stocky. He must weigh a lot more than I do.” She didn't know that was true,
but she hoped it was. “I don't think Sherm could have handled him, even with Jennifer's help. I don't think they could have handled me if they hadn't bonked me in the head with the door.”

Seepy had broken in at that point to mention the knife.

Weems was of the opinion that the knife might have worked if they'd threatened Curtin with it, but he'd added that the knife might not have been necessary because “Curtin was so plotzed he probably didn't know whether he was drinking water, poison, or bourbon.”

Sally concluded that the Jacksons had poisoned Curtin rather than hanging him because it had been a lot easier than hoisting him to the ceiling fan, and he might not even have had one. She pointed out that it wasn't as easy to hang someone as people might think.

“After all, they tried to do it to me, and it didn't work.”

Seepy had eyed the rope burns on her neck.

“You're going to look a little like Clint Eastwood in that movie. What was it?”

“Hang 'Em High,”
Weems said.

Sally recalled having spoken that very sentence to Christopher Matthys. She wished now she'd never said it.

“That's the one,” Seepy said. “I don't know how I could have forgotten the name. Inger Stevens is in it, too. That's a good movie.”

After Weems agreed with him, Seepy launched into a discussion of the Billy Jack movies. Sally had no idea how they'd gotten so far off the subject, and when Seepy started to proclaim the glories of
Billy Jack Goes to Washington,
she tried to bring the subject back to the Jacksons.

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” she said to Weems, who looked grateful. “But do you think the Jacksons are the ones who killed Harold Curtin? Or not?”

Weems wasn't sure.

“They might be nuts on the subject of witchcraft, but they were working together with Curtin on this bond issue thing. Why kill your friends?”

Sally had an answer. “Because they found out he was a member
of a coven of witches. They didn't want to be contaminated by the association.”

While admitting that it all fit together neatly, Weems hadn't been entirely convinced. Now, thinking it over in the relative calm after the attempted hanging, Sally wasn't so sure, either. It seemed to her that she'd missed something along the way, some small but essential clue. Or rather, she hadn't missed it but had just overlooked it. She'd felt that way before, but whatever was bothering her still hadn't surfaced, and with the bump on the head she'd gotten from the door, she was thinking less clearly than usual. She wished Jack were there. She could have talked the whole thing over with him. Seepy Benton was nice enough, but he just wasn't the same.

Good grief, she thought. Could I possibly be jealous of Vera?

No, she told herself, that wasn't it. She was happy for Jack, and for Vera, too. She had just become accustomed to talking things over with Jack, and she could still do that. The fact that he and Vera were a couple now didn't change anything as far as their friendship went.

Or maybe, Sally thought, it wasn't Jack and Vera. Maybe something else was bothering her. Maybe Jack had some connection to that clue she couldn't quite remember.

“Your cat likes my guitar case,” Seepy said, breaking into her thoughts.

Sally looked over at Lola, who appeared to have settled herself down for the night.

“I'm sorry that she's shedding on it,” Sally said.

Lola heard. As if she knew they were talking about her, she looked up and said,
“Rrrrrrrr.”

“I know you're not sorry,” Sally said. “That's why I was apologizing for you.”

“Meow,” Lola said.

“You talk to your cat,” Seepy said, not appearing in the least surprised.

“Yes. Sometimes I forget she's just a cat.”

“I talk to mine, too.” Seepy paused. “I have four.”

Maybe Seepy wasn't so bad after all, Sally thought. But that
wasn't going to help her remember whatever it was that she needed to remember.

“You're probably wondering why I came by,” Seepy said. “It wasn't to talk about cats.”

Sally already knew why he'd come to see her. She said, “I heard what you told Lieutenant Weems.”

“Oh.” Seepy gave his guitar case a wistful glance. “Well, I guess you won't have to listen to me pick and sing. I won't be playing that guitar for a while, not with a knife in its back. I'm almost afraid to look at it.” He brightened. “But I have another one at home. Two more, in fact.”

Sally thought he must want her to ask him to come by again some other time and to bring one of his other guitars. But she couldn't bring herself to do it.

“Have I thanked you for rescuing me?”

Seepy laughed. “I didn't rescue you.” He looked at her door. “All I did was mess up your wall. You're the one who rescued me. Sherm Jackson had me in a death grip.”

“You distracted them and gave me time to get loose. Well, sort of loose.”

“I wish I could take credit for saving you, but I don't think it would be right. However, if you're feeling grateful to me â¦”

Sally knew she'd made a big mistake, but there was nothing to do now. She'd have to bite the bullet and say what he wanted to hear. Well, almost.

“Why don't you come by my office tomorrow and play one of your new songs for me.”

“You're going to be at school tomorrow?”

“I don't miss school if I can walk and talk.”

“You can barely talk. Tomorrow you might be even worse.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

Seepy stood up. “I'm sure you'll be fine. When are your office hours?”

“The afternoon might be best,” Sally told him, thinking that there would be fewer people in the building at that time.

“Great. I'll be there around three. Will that be all right?”

“Sounds fine. I'm looking forward to it.”

Sally, she thought, you are such a liar.

Seepy reached for his guitar case. Lola roused herself and hissed at him.

“Lola,” Sally said. “Get off the case.”

Lola hissed again.

“Lola.”

Lola stood up, humped her back, and stretched out her front legs. She scratched the guitar case, tentatively at first, then more vigorously.

“Lola!”

The scratching slowed down. Lola turned her head slowly and looked up at Sally.

“Meow?”

“Get down. Now.”

“Meow.”

Lola got off the guitar case, but she took her time about doing it, grooming herself a little before finally moving to the floor.

Seepy reached for the case.

“Meowrrrrrr.”

“I'm taking the case,” Seepy told her. “You got to have a nice nap on it, and now it's time for me to go home. You'll be glad when I've gone.”

“Meow.”

“That's what I thought,” Seepy said.

Seepy picked up his guitar case. Now he had a ruined guitar case in one hand and a battered straw hat in the other, like some itinerant minstrel from the 1930s. Except for the shirt. Sally was sure that no one in the 1930s had ever worn a shirt quite as bright as the one Seepy wore. She wondered where he found such wild shirts.

“Good night, Sally,” Seepy said. “Good night, Lola.”

“Good night,” Sally said. “Thanks for coming by in time.”

“Glad to be of help.”

“Meow,” Lola said, and Seepy left them there.

Sally went into the bedroom, ready for a hot shower and some sleep. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the inside of the closet door.

She didn't look as bad as she'd thought. No, the awful truth was that she looked even worse. Maybe in addition to the turtleneck, she should wear a paper bag over her head.

When she started to get undressed, the telephone rang. Sally looked at the caller ID.

The call was from her mother.

Lola peered out from under the bed. Sally looked at her and said, “The perfect end to a perfect day.”

“Meow,” said Lola.

From Cotton Mather's
The Wonders of the Invisible World

If a drop of innocent blood should be shed, in the prosecution of the witchcrafts among us, how unhappy are we!

W
hen Sally got to her office the next morning, Troy Beauchamp was standing at the door.

“Tell me everything,” he said.

Sally had no idea how he'd already heard about her adventures. It was as if he picked up gossip out of the air. Or maybe he talked to her mother.

Sally unlocked the door and went inside. Troy was right behind her, so as soon as she put down her books, she told him an abbreviated version of the story.

“Details,” he said. “I want details.”

Sally gave him a few, and he left. She wondered if he would teach class at all that day or if he'd simply spend his time going from one office to another, spreading the news.

While he was doing that, Sally checked to see if she had any messages. She didn't, so she picked up the phone and called Wynona.

“Wussup?” Wynona said when she answered the ring.

Sally thought Wynona really could use a refresher course in telephone etiquette.

“Have you heard from Ellen Baldree today?” Sally asked.

“She called to let me know she'd be here. I haven't actually seen her.”

Sally thanked her and hung up. She wasn't surprised that Ellen
hadn't called her. At least she'd gotten in touch with someone, and Sally wouldn't have to worry about meeting the classes for her.

Almost as soon as Sally put the phone back on the hook, Jack showed up. He looked tired, and Sally was sure that he and Vera had made up their differences.

Jack didn't have Troy's sources, and he seemed a little taken aback at her appearance.

“Were you in a car wreck?” he said.

Sally's forehead was bruised, and her face was a little puffy. When she talked, she sounded as if she had a terrible cold.

“It wasn't a car wreck,” she said. “Someone tried to hang me.”

“You're joking, right?”

“I wouldn't joke about a thing like that. Jennifer and Sherm Jackson tried to hang me. Literally.”

“Why?”

“For the crime of witchcraft.”

Jack sat in the chair by her desk and asked her to tell him all about it.

“If it doesn't hurt too much to talk,” he added.

“It's not so bad. My mother recommended hot tea with lemon and honey. It actually helped.”

“Did she recommend the scarf?”

Sally touched the scarf. “Yes. I was planning to wear a turtleneck sweater, but it's too hot for that, and none of my summer things have turtlenecks.”

“The scarf makes you look, oh, I don't know. Kind of exotic.”

“Yes, like Isadora Duncan. Remember that story? There was a movie about her.”

“With Vanessa Redgrave. I saw it when I was a kid. But you shouldn't be so paranoid. Cars don't have spoked wheels these days.”

“I'm not paranoid. The scarf makes me feel old.”

“Then I guess you wouldn't be wearing it if your neck weren't in bad shape. So tell me about it.”

Sally gave him an abbreviated version of the events, with fewer details than Troy had demanded.

“Wow,” he said when she had finished. “You really weren't kidding. You're lucky to be alive.”

“I don't know that I'd have made it if Seepy hadn't arrived when he did.”

Jack smiled. “You and Seepy, huh?”

“No, not me and Seepy He's very nice, and he may even have saved my life, but I'm not sure I need to hear him sing his songs. I don't care if he sounds like Johnny Cash.”

“He does have a deep voice,” Jack said. “But there was only one Johnny Cash, and now he's gone. Seepy can't even come close.”

“You've heard him?”

“I don't have to hear him to know that.”

“You could come by this afternoon at three. He'll be here for a serenade.”

“Lucky you. You get your life saved, and then you get songs composed in your honor. But the best thing is that you've put two more killers behind bars.”

“They put themselves there. And to tell the truth, I'm not sure they're killers.”

Sally had thought everything over before she went to sleep the previous evening. She'd thought she'd fall asleep as soon as she lay down, but it hadn't worked out that way. Even the pain pills she'd taken hadn't had much of an effect. She'd lain awake for quite a while, and the events of the past few days had paraded themselves through her head. A couple of things had been explained. She had found out who had sent the e-mail about her, and she knew why Harold Curtin had spent some time with a witches' coven. She even thought that she knew why Curtin had been killed. But Weems wasn't convinced, and when Sally thought about his arguments, she could see why.

Jennifer and Sherm had been intent on going by the book when it came to hanging her, or at least Jennifer had. It did seem logical that if they'd executed the Garden Gnome for witchcraft, they'd have done it the right way.

And there was something Jennifer had said, something that Sally
had forgotten to tell Weems. Sally couldn't remember the exact words, having been occupied with trying to survive at the time they'd been spoken, but they had something to do with the fact that Jennifer didn't want people to think Sally's death was a suicide.

If Jennifer didn't want Sally's death to look like a suicide, then why had she and Sherm killed Curtin in a way that made people think of suicide immediately?

Sally didn't have an answer, and she had called Weems before leaving for school to ask him if he had one.

He didn't, but he'd reminded Sally again that he didn't think the Jacksons were guilty of Curtin's death.

“So there's still a killer out there somewhere,” Sally had said. “And we're right back where we started.”

“There's no we,” Weems had told her. “I don't want you getting mixed up in this again. You've done enough damage already, and you've nearly gotten yourself killed in the process. Just relax and let me handle things.”

Sally had promised that she would, and she tried not to think about the case anymore. But she found that she couldn't help herself.

“Are you still there?” Jack said, waving his hand in front of her face.

Sally came out of her trance.

“I'm still here. I was just thinking.”

“I was worried about you. That knot on your head could be dangerous. Did you have it checked out?”

Sally told him that she was fine and that there was no danger of concussion.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Jack asked.

“None. Don't be an idiot.”

“I'm only trying to help. I'm sorry I wasn't there last night. Even if you aren't sure the Jacksons are killers.”

Sally didn't think he would have been much help. She said, “As I recall, the last time you were in danger, I had to do the rescuing.”

“Well,” Jack said, “Hector helped.”

“Lola didn't.”

Jack laughed. “Hector is unique. You can't expect any other cat to be as vicious as he is. But tell me one thing.”

“About Lola?”

“No. About the Jacksons. You said you weren't sure they were killers. They certainly tried to kill you.”

“They were pretty inept when you think about it. But what I meant was that I don't think they killed the Gnome.”

“If they didn't, who did?”

“I don't know. And Lieutenant Weems doesn't want me to try to find out. He made that very clear.”

“I don't think you're in any condition to be tracking down a killer,” Jack said.

“I'm not. It's just that I feel as if I know something that would help, and I can't remember what it is.”

“You're too young to be having senior moments,” Jack said, standing up. “I have to go get ready for my next class. Can you stay out of trouble for a while?”

“I can manage. What about you? Are you and Vera getting along now?”

Jack blushed, and Sally knew she'd been right about why he looked tired.

“We're getting along fine,” he said.

“Good. I hope you don't spend so much time with her that you forget about your friends.”

“Rave on,” Jack said. “You don't have to worry about that.”

“What did you just say?”

“That you don't have to worry. I'll be hanging around as usual. I'm still your friend.”

“Not that. The first part.”

“The first part of what?”

“Of what you said. It was a song title.”

“Oh, that. I said, âRave on.' It's the name of a Buddy Holly song. It begins, âRave on, it's a crazy feeling â¦'”

“I know,” Sally said, and then everything clicked into place.