The Witch Of Agnesi Part 30

"The waters got further muddied when this Wicked Little Witch started electronically penning missives to Edmund urging him to hang tough and promising him the moon." Feeling she was on a roll, Bonnie hurried on before Armen could interrupt. "I went round and round trying to dope out who this female Iago might be."

She held up the thumb of her left hand. "Of course, Ali came to mind, but I just didn't buy it."

"What about the missing time Thursday night?"

"Ali did what she claimed. She didn't have time for anything else. She walked out to the bale pyre, maybe stood looking at the night sky, then came back to the house." Bonnie laid a hand on Armen's knee. "It's too d.a.m.n far, Armen! Ali wasn't gone long enough to trek to either Fulton Hill or the Sheridan barn, not if she partic.i.p.ated in any meaningful way in the murders of Stephanie or Peyton. A round trip to and from either one of those places would take an hour at least, and that's just for the driving."

Armen presented her with a skeptical face. "If we believe Rhiannon's estimation of how long the girl was absent from the house." we believe Rhiannon's estimation of how long the girl was absent from the house."

"Which I do. I mean, why tell us at all about Ali's nocturnal sojourn then lie about the details? All she needed to do is keep the whole story to herself."

"Uh huh." Armen didn't sound entirely convinced, but he didn't argue.

I guess that's as good as I'm going to get. "Next, I fixated on Molly, Edmund's sister. Did the girl just create the persona of Your Wicked Little Witch, write those e-mails herself? Edmund's poisoning certainly seems to point to Molly. Poisoning is an intimate meth-od of murder. The probability is Edmund knew his murderer, took the lethal drink or food right from his killer's hand. Edmund trusted this person-much as he trusted his sister." "Next, I fixated on Molly, Edmund's sister. Did the girl just create the persona of Your Wicked Little Witch, write those e-mails herself? Edmund's poisoning certainly seems to point to Molly. Poisoning is an intimate meth-od of murder. The probability is Edmund knew his murderer, took the lethal drink or food right from his killer's hand. Edmund trusted this person-much as he trusted his sister."

"How could she get Edmund's body-?"

"Under the trailer? That's not my problem. I think that girl is as resourceful as she is strong. On top of that, did I mention she played wheelchair softball?"

The car started to fishtail on the rutted country road, and Armen swerved into the skid. By the time he'd fin-ished with the maneuver, his hands were shaking.

"Settle down, Mister Mouse. We need speed, but above all get us there in one piece."

Armen drew a deep breath and muttered, "Of course, I still don't know where in creation there there is." is."

"I'm getting to that. Just take Belleview to h.e.l.l and gone, as if you're going to Edmund's house." She waved toward the road ahead.

He laughed ruefully. "Your wish is my command, Princess Bonita. Don't worry, I won't wrap us around a tree, mainly because there are blessed few trees out here on the great American desert." He gave her a sidelong glance as if to say, "How long do you think I'm going to put up with being treated like one of your students?"

Bonnie rubbed his shoulder. "I remember this handsome gentleman whose mother told fortunes in Armenia. He made me guess at his origins rather than tell me outright. Said it would feel better in the end."

A smile flickered at the corner of Armen's lips. "Touche. Fair enough, I'll play. So this Molly is strong enough to do serious damage with a baseball bat?"

"Plenty strong. h.e.l.l, she could probably take out the both of us without working up a sweat. But none of that matters. The real problem with Molly as a sus-pect is that she's another one telling the truth, this time about the girlfriend-Your Wicked Little Witch again. Her mother all but verified that. She didn't disagree with Molly's a.s.sertion of a love interest, just who that love interest might be."

"And you know who the love of Edmund's life was?"

"Stay with me." When he continued looking skep-tical, she said, "In the middle of all this witchcraft there were two more witches-one the product of a medieval mistranslation, the other a comic book character." She retold the story of Marie Agnesi and how a simple turn-ing curve became the bride of the devil.

Armen squinted at her. "That is peculiar, but I still don't see the connection to these murders."

"Neither did I." Bonnie kept one eye on Armen and the other on the unpredictable rutted road. She didn't relish the ignominy of ending up in a ditch. "Some-thing had been nagging at me, something I'd heard, but for one reason or another it never registered. Then, just as I was about to erase versiera versiera and and aversiera aversiera from my blackboard, I saw it. Once again, one word had been subst.i.tuted for another and that simple subst.i.tu-tion changed everything." from my blackboard, I saw it. Once again, one word had been subst.i.tuted for another and that simple subst.i.tu-tion changed everything."

"You've lost me again."

Bonnie slowed her breathing trying to force her mind into teacher mode. As was always the case, it wasn't enough for the good teacher to understand a process. The good teacher had to select the perfect pedagogy to make the process plain to the listener as well.

"Go back with me to Edmund's bedroom. Remem-ber all that comic book talk that began with Herbie Popsicle?"

"Herbie Popnecker."

She waved away the correction. "Whatever. Before long you and Molly were discussing the ins and outs of Edmund's collection."

Armen nodded. "Uh huh. She mentioned Over-street, the comic book register, and Edmund's primo collection he kept in a dehumidifying safe."

Good man! Cut right to the chase. "Exactly. Do you remember Molly claiming Edmund would sell ev-erything if the price was right?" "Exactly. Do you remember Molly claiming Edmund would sell ev-erything if the price was right?"

This time Armen shook his head, taking on the smug look of someone who remembered a choice bit the teacher had forgotten. "I remember her saying he'd sell almost everything. There was a run of five mint condition Harvey comic books she said he would never part with."

"Right again." She slapped his arm and immedi-ately regretted it. Don't distract the man while he's driving. Don't distract the man while he's driving.

For his part, Armen just smiled. "Thank you, Mis-sus Pinkwater." He adopted the sing-song voice of a kindergarten child.

"You're welcome, Master Callahan." My G.o.d, in the s.p.a.ce of four days this man has got you all turned inside out. You're not a schoolgirl, Pinkwater. Get a grip. My G.o.d, in the s.p.a.ce of four days this man has got you all turned inside out. You're not a schoolgirl, Pinkwater. Get a grip.

Her hand made its way back to his shoulder like it belonged there. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think the comics in question were the first five issues of Casper the Friendly Ghost Casper the Friendly Ghost. As I recall, Molly was incredulous he would put any stock in these books be-yond their worth and the fact he'd made a great deal on them."

"Considering the other more important pieces in his collection, I could see her point."

"Yes, important."

She swallowed a sarcastic remark concerning comic books and their relative significance in the world. Be-sides, there was something endearing in a man who wore a white goatee and yet still held on to a few child-ish values.

"And it was at that juncture we both missed the real reason why Edmund cherished these particular books."

"The real reason?" He said the words like she was about to spring the punch line of a joke on him.

"Yes, the real reason." She stuck out her tongue at him. "You missed it because you were focused on the other books in this magical vault of Edmund's, and I missed it because I was being lulled into a fugue state by a barrage of comic book talk."

"I have to presume Edmund being enamored with Casper the Friendly Ghost Casper the Friendly Ghost falls short of this so-called real reason." falls short of this so-called real reason."

Bonnie resisted the temptation to pinch the shoul-der she was caressing. "And I'll presume you're being deliberately obtuse. The subject is witches, Callahan, witches. Here's where our one-word-can-make-all-the-difference confusion raises its less than beautiful head. In the phrase Wicked Little Witch change Wicked to Good."

She watched his face as the realization dawned on him. She had to admit, it was a face she could get used to.

"The poster above the computer," he said, letting each word fall slowly from his mouth. "It pictured not only Casper the Friendly Ghost but also Casper's best friend, a Good Little Witch. The same Good Little Witch who was introduced in those mint condition Harvey comics."

She nodded. "Indeed. A Good Little Witch named Wendy."

ALICE TOOK THE TURN AT COYOTE ROAD LIKE SHE WAS made for poorly maintained country roads. Good girl. Just get us to that misplaced hacienda, and I'll buy you all the oil you can drink. Good girl. Just get us to that misplaced hacienda, and I'll buy you all the oil you can drink.

"If I'm right, all of the children's deaths have noth-ing to do with the scholars.h.i.+p or Thursday morning's fight, or even Peyton's apparent abduction."

"Was Peyton abducted? From all indications, he went willingly to Edmund's barn."

"If we add Wendy to the equation, the explanation of how he got to that barn is simplified."

Again, the light of comprehension shone in Armen's face. "Peyton was in her car when she drove away."

She nodded the slow nod of the righteous. "It's entirely possible he was somewhere on the Evangelical Academy's grounds, but it makes more sense he sim-ply snuck around into her SUV, climbed in, and stayed hidden. Wendy and Peyton planned his disappearance before she arrived at the Academy, which explains why he became so distracted when she showed up."

Armen raised both hands as if to make a point then, much to Bonnie's relief, put them back on the wheel. "Why hide Peyton at all? Why fake his running away?"

Why, indeed?

As they sped down Coyote Road, Bonnie's stomach tightened. She dreaded what she might find at Wendy's house. Suddenly, a very large portion of her psyche hoped her reasoning was a pile of cow manure. Still, the momentum of her argument pushed her on.

"Let me answer your pair of questions with a pair of my own. Who's been the villain in this Pa.s.sion Play from the very beginning? Who also seems to have fallen off the face of the earth even though both the military and civilian police are diligently searching for him?"

A tight knowing smile formed on Armen's lips. "The good Colonel."

"I don't know about the good part, but yes, Colonel Ralph Newlin. If I'm right, all this death and misery can be traced back to that sphincter in Air Force blue, and a plan to put a permanent end to a nightmare marriage."

"With Edmund Sheridan's help?"

"You betcha." Bonnie resisted the urge to punctuate her remark with a punch to his arm. "In a misguided effort to comfort Stephanie, Edmund said something in-criminating to Stephanie. Wendy had to get rid of her."

Armen chewed his lower lip and beard, his head nodding. "And that very night Stephanie Templeton would die on Fulton Hill. Shoot, you don't have to play baseball to get your hands easily on a baseball bat. Not if your husband plays softball."

"Let's take it from the beginning. From early Thursday morning, things start to go wrong." Bonnie tugged at her ear, sorting through the events of that not-so- long-ago morning. "Edmund tries unsuccessfully to get Peyton in a fight."

"Yeah, why do that? Edmund was Peyton's best friend."

"Because he was was Peyton's best friend. I'm sure in Edmund's mind he was doing Peyton a favor." She turned to face Armen. "The deal was to get Peyton out of the way." Peyton's best friend. I'm sure in Edmund's mind he was doing Peyton a favor." She turned to face Armen. "The deal was to get Peyton out of the way."

When Armen looked like he might interrupt again, Bonnie said, "I got a theory about that, too. For now, just hang with me. If Peyton gets in a fight, he gets his thin a.s.s suspended. His father would be p.i.s.sed, so Ed-mund could suggest, with Wendy's approval, he lay low in the Sheridan barn. The boy is gone for any homicide that would take place."

Open-mouthed, Armen nodded in agreement. "That would be a lot simpler than spiriting Peyton away from a Knowledge Bowl compet.i.tion. But Peyton refused to fight back."

The double row of poplars lining the Newlin driveway loomed in the distance like dark mountains against the morning sky. Bonnie took a long shud-dering breath to still her voice. "If it wasn't for that unplanned-for choice, Stephanie Templeton would still be alive and by consequence Peyton, when he learned of Stephanie's death."

"All right, let's say I buy it. That still doesn't ex-plain why Peyton was secreted off to the Sheridan's barn in the first place."

"Do you remember much from child psychology cla.s.ses about dysfunctional families, particularly ones where one or both of the parents are physically or s.e.xu-ally abusive."

Armen pursed his lips in concentration. "I re-member the secrecy, the one parent who becomes the enabler, the good child who masks the troubled family by being exemplary."

"I'm thinking more of the relations.h.i.+ps within the family rather than the family's structure per se per se, espe-cially, the child's relations.h.i.+p to the abuser."

Armen sighed deeply. "Often, the child will be closer to the abusive parent than he is to the non-abu-sive parent."

"Closer to the abusive parent," she echoed. "And what if that parent is a hero, a larger than life Adonis twice decorated by the President of the United States, no less?"

"You got the makings of one screwed up kid."

"You betcha. Now suppose this kid's mother and this kid's best friend in the whole world get it into their homicidal craniums they need to put an end to the mon-ster who is making all their lives a living h.e.l.l?"

"They'd have to get Peyton out of the way, at least temporarily." Armen turned his mouth down in dis-taste. "I still have trouble picturing Wendy Newlin with Edmund."

Bonnie spread wide her hands, signaling she was none too sure of the nature of the pair's relations.h.i.+p. "It may be nothing more than Wendy utilizing a willing foil. She's certainly every h.o.r.n.y nerd's wet dream. It wouldn't take much to wrap the boy around her scheme and make him agree to help her get rid of an abusive husband, especially if that husband was the father of his best friend."

Armen licked his lips, obviously getting into the spirit of the give-and-take. His eyes went wide. "When you called Wendy from your cla.s.sroom, the male voice you heard-."

"Was probably Edmund."

"And Ralph Newlin himself?"

"By Sat.u.r.day morning? If it was anybody else, I'd say he was singing in the heavenly choir. Given that we're talking about Ralph Newlin, I seriously doubt it."

Armen turned into the tree-lined drive. "Hold it! We both saw Wendy's face in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Someone broke the woman's nose."

Bonnie nodded her agreement. "I considered that. I think Edmund did it."

"Edmund?"

"Imagine how you would feel if you realized you'd been poisoned. Wouldn't you lash out?"

Armen looked dubious. "I suppose."

"It all ties together. And Edmund would hardly suspect Wendy would poison him, especially if she was his lover."

She meant to explain more but all thought was driv-en from her mind. At the end of the horseshoe drive sat Ralph Newlin's yellow Stingray. The trunk was open.

Not a sound came from within the sprawling adobe structure. No light escaped either since a series of pleated curtains made it impossible to see through the long stained-gla.s.s window.

A woman's scream sounded from within the house.

The expression on Armen's face told Bonnie he was thinking precisely what she was. What if they were wrong? What if Ralph Newlin was at that very mo-ment throttling his wife?

Armen reached beneath the dash and popped the trunk. "I'll go."

"Not without me, you won't," she whispered. You idiot, the time for whispering is long past. Whoever's in that house probably watched you come up the drive. You idiot, the time for whispering is long past. Whoever's in that house probably watched you come up the drive. She fully expected Armen to give her a hard time about accompanying him, but he only offered a tight smile and nodded. She fully expected Armen to give her a hard time about accompanying him, but he only offered a tight smile and nodded.

While Bonnie fumbled in the back seat for her crutches, Armen disappeared to the rear of the car, ap-pearing a moment later with a tire iron. He smacked it once in the palm of his hand.

Bonnie's heart felt like it had grown too large for her chest. It pounded for release against her ribs. "Let's do it."

The door wasn't locked. Bonnie swung it open, and they peered into the semi-darkness of the front room. Armen squinted as he led the way, the tire iron in front of him like a dousing rod. A sickly sweet smell became apparent.

Blood?

Bonnie's suspicions were confirmed a moment later when her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. The body of Ralph Newlin lay face up and spread-eagled not ten feet from the open door. From the single rut-ted depression on the carpet, he'd been dragged by the feet. A streak of dried blood leading back toward the kitchen discolored the carpet.

A grunt came from behind the open door. Some-thing thin and metallic struck Armen in the upper chest. The tire iron flew from his hands. It dropped with a thud into the thick carpet. The metal rod struck again, this time catching Armen full in the face. He fell to his knees and toppled.

Before Bonnie could react, the door slammed shut.

"I knew you'd come flying in here if I screamed." Her shoulder pressed against the door, Wendy Newlin held a metal-headed golf club in both hands. Her mis-shapen face was flushed. A streak of blood stained the front of her cashmere sweater.