Salem's Daughters (19 page)

Chapter 31              Sophia Johnson

Sophia laughed as she yanked back on the poker, the hooked tip tearing through flesh and bones. Her thoughts were hazy. She felt lightheaded and nauseous. But her vision was clear. She looked down on a kneeling cat, paws covering a mortal chest wound, and crying out for mercy.

“Yeah, I got you good, didn't I you little feline freak. Beg alls you want to. But I'm watchin’ yo sorry ass die.”

As the fog in her head lifted, she saw her husband on his knees, covering the hole in his chest with both hands, blood oozing out between his fingers. He looked up and tried to say something. His mouth moved, but she couldn't hear his words. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell forward to the orange shag carpet floor.

“Holy Mothah of God! Reginald. O’ dear sweet Jesus. Wha—what happened?”

“You just murdered your husband. What do you think,” a pleasant voice vibrated in her head.

Sophia gripped the poker with two hands and held it up in front of her. She looked left, then slowly completed a full turn, searching for someone else in the room.

“Who said dat?”

“I did.”

She studied the cats. One jumped up on the foot of the bed. “Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Isabella. Nice to meet you.”

Sophia looked at the name tag on the collar.
Isabella
.

“You can talks?”

“Not exactly. I have the power of telepathy and illusion casting.”

“Tele—telepa
what
?”

“I can transmit information to a human or animal without using any known sensory channels or physical interaction. Just like I’m doing to you now.”

Sophia looked at her dead husband, still twitching on the floor. “But why would I kill my Reggie?”

“That’s easy. Scarlett can give people temporary bouts of madness. She caused you to go cuckoo just long enough for me to plant an image in your mind that your husband was one of us.”

Sophia, glassy eyed and discombobulated, watched a second cat jump on the bed and waved her paw.

“Scarlett says hi.”

Sophia looked at the name on the collar.
Scarlett
. She held the poker up. It had a piece of flesh that was probably part of a lung draped over the end.

“But, my Reg. I killed him?”

“Believe me. After listening to your mouth all week, he’s better off dead. I’m not sure where he goes in the afterlife, but trust me, it has to be a better place.”

“Talkin’ cats. You gots to be kiddin’ me.”

Isabella sighed. “We don’t talk. We communicate telepathically with each other. And I can communicate telepathically with people like I’m doing with you right now. Anyway, check this out. Angel here, she started this whole episode by invading your husband’s dreams. And by the way, we were the cheerleaders.”

Another cat joined the two cats on the bed. Sophie looked down at her name tag.
Angel
.

“Wait. Don’t try to make sense of this. I doubt you have the cranial capacity to do so. Next up is Chloe.
She can levitate things. She’ll help Annie come down from the shelf.”

A fourth cat jumped up on the bed. Sophia looked at the name tag.
Chloe
. She turned to see the cat up on the shelf float across the room then onto the bed. Sure enough, the nametag read
Annie
.

“Wait. You cats has special powers?”

“My, my, aren’t you the perceptive one. Now you’re getting it. But we prefer to call them abilities. And we can combine our abilities and work together. You know. To kill people. Just like we’re going to kill you.”

“I gotsta be losin’ my damn mind.”

Sophia was shaking badly and almost dropped the black wrought iron rod.  She scanned the Disco themed room as she backed up toward the door. The cats sat eerily still, their only movements were their tails swaying back and forth in unison and their eyes following her every move. Sophia aimed the poker to her left, then quickly shifted to the right of the room.

“You crazy ass cats stay the hell away from me. You hear? I’m getting’ outta here. Don’t you dare try an’ stop me.”

Sophia, not taking her eyes off the cats, reached behind herself and tried to open the door, but it was locked. She pointed the poker at Isabella. “Unlock this here door, or I swears to God I’ll kill you all.”

“I’m sure Helen and Chloe will oblige.”

A fifth cat jumped up on the bed. Sure enough, the name tag read Helen.

“Helen can reverse things. A lock in this case. And Chloe, who just levitated Annie across the room, can pull the door open. They were able to unlock and open the door to let us in while you were sleeping. Cool, don’t you think?”

“You truly is hell cats. Screw you all.”

Sophia’s normal heart rhythms shifted to fast uneven heart palpitations pounding inside her chest. So strong were the abnormal pulsations she felt it spreading to the arteries in her neck. An enormous shudder almost caused her to lose control of her bowels.

She found herself hyperventilating. The inside of her head gyrated as her knees lost strength. She must be having an anxiety attack. Yeah, she convinced herself that must be it.

“I’m sure you feel your heartbeat increase and blood racing through your body. That’s Annie, doing what she does best. You know, causing your heart to beat faster. Stuff like that.”

Behind her, the click of the lock on the door sounded.

“Uh uh. No how, no way. Cain’t be happenin’.”

Still facing the cats and holding the poker in a death grip, she turned her head to see the door knob turn by itself. The door swung open and smacked her hard in the butt.

That was it. Sophia dropped the poker and ran out the door, screaming as she pulled the hem of her nightgown above her knees and scampered down the hall. At the top of the stairs the cats swarmed her feet, causing her to lose balance.

She felt a burst of heat, as if an enormous bubble of hot air exploded against her back, pushing her forward with incredible force and lifting her feet off the carpet. Sophia flipped in a one-eighty arc and nose-dived down the stairs; her neck snapped on the first step her head landed on.

Sophia was conscious, but had no control of her tumbling body. She could hear the sickening breaks and cracks of her bones as she slammed against the stairs on her downward plummet. She hit the living room hardwood floor nose first, and her life switched off.

Chapter 32              Investigation

Bob sat at the kitchen table. The boarders, still in their pajamas and robes, gawked at the twisted and broken body at the bottom of the stairs. Raymond Hettinger walked over and placed a blanket over the corpse. Maria Gonzalez tried to calm the guests, some who were threatening to leave and demanding a full refund.

Bob was thankful for Raymond and Maria. They had made excruciating circumstances easier to navigate. He reached out for the two cups of coffee Maria handed him and passed one on to Debbie.

“Thanks Maria.”

“You’re welcomed,” she said through tired eyes and a yawn. “I’ll offer some to Raymond and the guests, too.”

For the third time in less than three months, Bob had yellow police tape on Murcat Manor’s property. And, like the previous two occurrences, it wasn’t the yellow tape that was the worst of his problems.

“It only took a week for more people to die,” a terse Darrowby said, Kowalski at his side. “That’s four deaths in nine weeks. You wanna tell me what the hell’s going on here?”

Bob was exhausted. But it was the frustration that he was already perceived guilty that gnawed at him. His words blew out of his mouth.

“Clearly, this is a murder suicide,” he said, feeling defensive and sounding like it. “This much is clear. Especially, I would think,” he took the offense and eyed the two officers up and down. “To two
trained detectives
.”

Darrowby gripped the table and rose. “Excuse me. You now have two more dead bodies inside your house. Put yourself in my shoes.”

He stood and pointed out into the living room where there was a clear view of the dead body underneath the blanket. “Tell me, what am I thinking right about now?”

Bob tried to say something in his defense, but Darrowby cut him off.

“Are you a detective?”

“No. I jus—”

Darrowby stuck out his palm. “Wait. Hold that thought. Let
me
tell
you
who and what you are. Then I’ll tell you who and what I am.”

He pointed his forefingers at him and Debbie. “You two are average Joe and Jane Citizen. Got that? You spend your evenings watching CSI reruns and honestly believe that you know more than real detectives like Kowalski and me. That’s you, in a nutshell.”

“We don’t watch a lot of TV,” Bob said.

Darrowby slammed his fist on the table. “Shut up. I’m not finished. Between Kowalski and me, we have thirty-five years of the best training and experience available to law enforcement anywhere in the world. Together, we’ve solved forty-seven homicides.
Forty-seven
. With the exception of six who got off because of their slick lawyers, forty-one are currently behind bars in Jackson State Prison.”

Darrowby’s eyes intensified on Bob. He knew the detective wanted to increase that number by four with him and Debbie as the perps. Bob looked back through the large archway that led into the living room. All of the guests were now staring in at him and Debbie.

“Ah, isn’t there a better place we can talk?”

Darrowby was quick with a response. “Sure is. Down at the station.”

“Wait. You’re not arresting us, are you?”

Darrowby grinned and let Bob’s question hang in the air. “No. This is just for questioning. That’s all.”

Bob was quicker with his reply. “I don’t think that’s in our best interests.”

Kowalski spoke. “Mr. Stevens, I strongly suggest you come with us voluntarily. If you haven’t done anything wrong, then you don’t have a thing to worry about. And coming in on your own volition will look good for you. Makes it appear like you want to help rather than trying to hide something or obstruct our investigation.”

Investigation. There was that word again.

Bob looked back into the living room. “But I need to attend to our guests.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have a couple officers keep an eye on the place. And I’m sure your hired help will keep your guests comfortable until you come back.”

Darrowby reached for Debbie’s elbow. “Shouldn’t take long. I promise. C’mon. You can ride in our car.”

Bob despised Darrowby. No way was he letting the scumbag touch his wife. He stepped in front of Debbie and pushed the detective’s arm away. Darrowby looked insulted and offended, but Bob didn’t care.

The caffeine was kicking in. Adrenaline raised his blood pressure. His mind was clear. He knew going to the Battle Creek Police Station and answer questions was the right thing to do. He didn’t have anything to hide. He hadn’t killed anyone.

But Bob also knew he needed to lawyer up.

“Okay, detective. We’ll go. Give us a few minutes to get dressed. But we’ll follow you in our car.”

Chapter 33              One More Death

Bob pulled out of the driveway and followed Darrowby, who kept his speed at exactly the speed limit. By the book. Fifty miles per hour.

Behind him, a police cruiser kept a safe but close distance. The time on his dash read 3:16 am. They were the only ones on the two lane country road. Bob glanced in his rear view mirror. Murcat Manor disappeared as Oak Hill Road veered west.

“Bob, the police station’s twenty minutes way. What are we going to do?”

Debbie was frantic, he knew. Although she’d momentarily freaked out when Sophie Johnson ran through the second floor screaming and they found the Johnsons dead, she had kept her cool while being questioned by the detectives.

But they were in their own domain, at the kitchen table, which was their territory. And Bob had stood up to Darrowby, as usual. But now, they were on their way to the Battle Creek Police Station, where Darrowby ruled supreme. He would have a dominant advantage.

“You know Darrowby wants to arrest us. This might be a one way trip for us. I’m calling grandma and grandpa.”

Debbie fumbled for her phone and dropped it. She bent forward and swept her hands across the floorboard and under her seat. The thought of having to tell Erma their situation sent a shiver up and down Bob’s spine.

“Slow down, honey. Forget about your phone. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Bob,” Debbie snapped, sounding too much like her snarly grandmother. “In case you haven’t noticed, four people have died at Murcat Manor in nine weeks. One of them was Darrowby’s friend since they were kids. Obviously, he thinks we’re behind all of them. Are you listening to me? He thinks we’re murdering psychopaths.

“And with four deaths, I think this categorizes us as serial killers in his eyes. Like he said, put yourself in his shoes. For all he knows, we had nefarious and insidious reasons for opening a bed and breakfast—to lure in people so we can kill them.”

Bob took his hands off the steering wheel for a moment to wave Debbie down. “I know. I know. We need help. And I know just who to call.”

“Grandma and grandpa, right?”

Hell no, Bob thought. Not those two. “Clark Hodgkins,” he said.

“Hogdkins? The guy who sold us the property?” Debbie shot him an incredulous look. “What’s he going to do?”

“We need an attorney. Now. Hodgkins has lived here his whole life. He seems to know just about everyone who’s anyone. I’m betting he can find us a lawyer to meet us at the station.”

Debbie leaned back in her seat and took a deep breath. She smiled for the first time since they woke up to Sophia’s maddening screams. “Good thinking.” She gripped his knee. “My man. You’re right, as usual.”

Bob pulled out his cell phone and spoke “Call Clark Hodgkins” into it. After a few rings a sleepy and disoriented voice answered. “Hello? That you, Mr. Stevens?”

“It’s me. Sorry to wake you.”

“Is everything okay? It’s three-twenty in the morning. A ghost wake you up?”

Funny man, Bob thought.
Not
.

“It’s a bit more complicated. We’re on our way to the Battle Creek Police Station. There have been two deaths at Murcat Manor tonight.”

Bob could hear Hodgkins throw the covers off and get out of bed. “Good God Almighty. Two?”

“Yes. A married couple. Seems she took a fire poker and stabbed her husband in the chest, killing him. Then she ran down the hall screaming like a mad woman. She fell down the stairs and tumbled all the way to the first floor. Broke her neck and half the bones in her body.”

“That’s four deaths in nine weeks.”

“Are you keeping score? How’d you know?”

“It’s my business to know. What do you need from me?”

“We need a damn good lawyer.”

“Don’t tell me. You’re being escorted by the Battle Creek police for questioning.”

“That’s right. But we didn’t do anything.”

“Mr. Stevens, I believe you. You and your wife seem like some of the finest people I’ve ever met. But you have to admit. This looks suspicious. Especially in this area.”

“There have to be murders around here.”

“Sure. Battle Creek, Kalamazoo, and Marshall all have homicides. But not four at the same place in a nine week span.”

“I know. I have to admit it looks bad.”

“It does. But I’m here to help. Who’s the detective bringing you in for questioning?”

“Detective Thomas Darrowby.”

“Ooh.” Bob heard Hodgkins smack his forehead. “That’s tough. Darrowby’s one contemptible asshole if you’re outside of his circle of friends. You get on
his
shit list? You’re going need serious legal help.”

“That’s why we’re calling you. You know who’s who around here. We don’t.”

“Don’t worry one bit. Got your back. Just happen to know an excellent defense attorney who’s gone up against Darrowby in court and won. Name of Kenneth Wilson.”

“Is he good?”

“Damn good. Trust me on this one. You want this guy in your corner. With him, you’ll be home for breakfast. Without him, Darrowby will make sure you eat your next meal in an orange jumpsuit.”