Witch Hunt (22 page)

“Amen.”

“Exodus twenty-two, verse eighteen,” Cody said.

Rachel lifted the Bible from the bed stand and opened it. Her china-blue eyes grew large as she read aloud in her breathy voice, “‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’”

Leigh checked on her children and found them asleep together, locked in each other’s arms. A soft whimpering came from Kamelia, and Leigh considered awakening her, but knew that the reality was as bad as the nightmare. She gave them each a gentle kiss and went to her own room.

The dagger of grief pierced her again when she walked into her bedroom and saw the scattered remains of Craig: his polka-dot and rainbow-colored ties, zebra-striped and bright paisley suspenders, American flag and zodiac-inspired golfing caps. She picked up his pillow and buried her face in it, inhaling the scent of his musky aftershave. She wrapped her arms around the pillow, aching for his embrace.

It was then that the tears began to flow.

Helena returned to the kitchen with an untouched tray of food. “Mrs. Hawthorne didn’t eat again. She hasn’t touched a bite since it happened.”

Leigh, Melanie, and Kamelia were sitting at the kitchen table nibbling from a tray of fruit and freshly baked muffins. In the two days since their latest tragedy, the family had been gravitating more and more to the warmth of the kitchen. As none of their appetites was good, Helena kept a ready supply of food on the table for them. Vivian, however, hadn’t left her room since the fire.

“Maybe we should call a doctor to come see her,” Leigh said.

“No.” Melanie’s voice was hard. “We don’t use doctors.”

“Oh? What do you do when you’re sick?”

“Grandpa was the healer. Now … I don’t know. Helena’s good with herbs. Jennifer Hunter, Ray’s wife, she heals. But I don’t know …”

Leigh added an extra spoonful of sugar to her coffee. She was beginning to like it sweeter than ever. “Is there a problem?”

“I don’t know. I tried to call Uncle Ray yesterday. He was funny … strange. I think he’s scared. He didn’t offer any help, like he did when Dad and Grandpa died.”

Leigh nodded. “That’s a human reaction.”

“Yeah, but he’s one of us. It’s not right for him to turn his back now.”

“Well, I think that we’re going to be surprised by who stands with us and who doesn’t,” Leigh said. “It would probably be best if we don’t entertain any expectations.”

Melanie slammed her butter knife down and glared at Leigh.

Leigh was beginning to get used to Hawthorne hostility, so she didn’t let herself get too upset by Melanie’s. “I don’t understand a lot about the way this works, but I do know that Kammi’s a healer.” She leaned across the table and chucked Kamelia gently under the chin. “Will you go try to do something for your grandma?”

Kamelia, whose despondency had been growing worse each day since her father’s death, shook her head. “No.”

“Why?” Leigh asked.

“I don’t want to be a witch.”

“Why?”

“It’s too much responsibility.”

“What do you mean?”

Kamelia started to cry, but Leigh resisted the urge to bundle her up in a comforting embrace. She waited patiently for her to regain control.

“It’s my fault Dad died.”

“I don’t understand.”

Kamelia pulled four small blue cloth bags out of her pocket, laid them on the table and stared at them, her bottom lip still quivering.

Leigh recognized them. “The protection charms.” She, out of deference to her daughter’s wishes, still carried hers.

“I forgot to give Dad his. I tried to give Uncle Dori one, and he couldn’t take it because of his allergy. I was embarrassed, and I forgot to give any more out.”

Oh, my poor baby
. “I see you’ve got four.”

“One’s mine. The other one was supposed to be Aunt Glynis’s.”

“Well, see. Glynis didn’t die. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to your father or uncle.”

“But you said yourself that you don’t understand how all this works. How can you say it wasn’t my fault?”

Leigh’s mind groped, and she took a chance. “Melanie will agree with me, won’t you?”

Melanie’s eyes met Leigh’s, and the two women stared at each other. Leigh held her breath and silently pleaded with the girl to be gracious.

Melanie surprised her.

“The charms help, but they aren’t infallible. Even with the charms, it’s likely it all would’ve gone the same.”

Leigh let out her breath.

“You think so?” Kamelia sat up a little straighter, and the air seemed washed with relief.

“Yeah,” Melanie said.

“So, will you go sit with your grandma awhile?” Leigh asked.

“Sure, I’ll see what I can do.” Kamelia left on her mission.

Leigh nodded at Melanie. “Thank you.”

“I did it for her, not you.”

“I realize that.”

Leigh studied the teenager. Her shoulder-length hair was a warm, russet color, and her skin was flawless. Her eyes, which always seemed so cold, were an unusual shade of amber, and her figure was nice. If it weren’t for the perpetually sullen downturn to her lips and the lack of animation in her face, Leigh thought she would be quite stunning.

“Take a picture,” Melanie said.

“I would, if you’d ever smile.”

“Screw you.”

Leigh sighed. “I went ahead and made funeral arrangements. We’ll bury them tomorrow morning. Everyone who’s going to go will meet here at nine o’clock, and we’ll have a police escort to the graveyard.”

“Where were the cops when we needed them?”

Better late than never
. “Please call the Hunters, and anyone else you think might want to be there, and let them know the time. I’ve asked the mortuary not to issue a press release.”

“Who put you in charge?”

“Necessity.”

“You aren’t a witch; you don’t belong in this family.”

“Listen to yourself, Melanie. You’re as bigoted as Preacher Cody and his followers are.”

Melanie’s eyes grew wide. “Go to hell.” She threw her balled-up napkin at Leigh and stormed from the room.

Leigh felt so alone. “I’m already there, Melanie.”

Melanie dialed the law firm of Hawthorne and Hunter. In her mind, Raymond Hunter was the last man in the family. If only she could gain her uncle’s cooperation, she thought she could keep the overbearing Leigh from taking over completely.

“Law offices of Raymond Hunter,” the woman’s voice said in greeting, instead of the usual “Hawthorne and Hunter.”

Melanie was startled. “Ah, Mr. Hunter, please. This is his niece.”

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Hunter doesn’t have a niece.”

Melanie chuckled. “Let me talk to Susan.” Susan was the receptionist who had been with the firm for five years.

“Susan is no longer with us. This is Barbara, her replacement.”

“Tell Mr. Hunter that Melanie Hawthorne is on the phone.”

“Hold a moment.”

A few minutes later, Ray’s voice came over the line. It was strained. “What is it, Melanie?”

“What the hell did she mean, ‘Mr. Hunter doesn’t have a niece?’ And who the hell gave you the right to change the firm’s name?”

“First of all, according to my partnership agreement with your father and grandfather, if there ever came a time when there was no Hawthorne practicing law, the rights of ownership of the firm would revert to me. And vice versa, if there were no practicing Hunters. Now, you needn’t worry about the firm’s assets. Your family will be getting what’s due. The figures are being drawn up now. And as to your status as my niece … well, you aren’t my niece, you know. ‘Uncle’ is often used as a polite way to refer to an older male who is a distant relative.” Ray’s words began to sound rehearsed. “A Hunter married a Hawthorne woman sometime in the first half of the nineteenth century. That hardly makes us close blood kin.”

“You goddamn, chicken-livered bastard.”

“I think, young lady, that you’ve just terminated this conversation.”

The phone line went dead, and his betrayal stole Melanie’s breath. She loved Ray and his family. She rubbed her belly, where there was still no visible evidence of the growing fetus. In her life, she had come to rely on the strength of the men around her. And now there were no men left. She felt that there was only one hope remaining for her and her baby. She had been a fool to put it off so long. She grabbed her purse and headed out into the bright afternoon.

Frank Janowski had a favorite fishing hole. It was outside of town, in a small inlet that connected two lakes. The fish would often become trapped in the stream by beaver dams, and this made the sport an easy one, which was good, because Frank wasn’t terribly ambitious. But he was cute, and that’s why Melanie had pursued him. She parked up the road from the inlet and walked to where he spent most every summer afternoon. He sat at the water’s edge with his pole, and tapped his foot to music only he could hear on his iPod. At sixteen it was clear he wouldn’t have the ruggedly handsome looks that his father and younger brother Gil had; he inherited instead a touch of his mother’s beauty. He wore his dark hair long and wild, and a quick electric smile set off deep dimples that Melanie thought were sexy. As a matter of fact, there wasn’t anything about Frank that Melanie didn’t think was sexy.