Sisters Of The Craft: Heat Of The Moment Part 5

"Don't do that!"

"You screamed. It's not my fault I was already here."

Deb pointed to the chalk outline of a star on the wall above the table. "Is that yours?"

The place might not be an interior decorator's wet dream, but it also hadn't been like this when he left. "No."

"Where'd it come from?"

"No idea. I didn't draw it."

"Did your mother?"

"What? No. Why?"

"This is the witch's house."

He contemplated the drawing. It did appear kind of witchy.

"My mother isn't actually a witch."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Reggie barked once from outside. Owen must have said that too loud and too angrily. Big shock.

"Becca?" Chief Deb asked.

"His mother isn't a witch," she agreed. "And this..."-she waved her hand at the graffiti and the table-"is all new. Wasn't here the last time I was."

The annoyance that had already sparked over Deb's words, flared at her needing someone else's confirmation of his own.

"Could your mom's friends have come here?" Deb continued. "What are they called? A coven?"

"She didn't have friends." She'd had dealers. And if it weren't for that d.a.m.n star on the wall, the dead animals on the table, and the lack of a meth lab in the kitchen he would have figured those dealers had gone Breaking Bad on the place. It made more sense than a coven.

"She isn't a witch," he repeated. Did the woman listen?

"Maybe a coven met here because they knew the place was abandoned."

"It wasn't abandoned."

Sure, he should have come back before now, but- His gaze went to Becca, who continued to study the table, probably because she didn't want to look at him. And that meant she really didn't want to look at him because who would choose to look at that?

"Couldn't tell it by the appearance of the place," Chief Deb muttered.

"And whose fault is that?" he snapped. "If the Carstairs' farm was left empty you can bet someone from your office would have driven by often enough."

"The Carstairs' farm would never be left empty." Deb's voice was so reasonable, and her words so true, Owen was at first furious, and then so empty he felt drained.

He'd been foolish to think the house would be in decent shape, that he could come here and, with a few minor tweaks, have the place ready to sell in a few weeks. But he'd been foolish about a lot of things.

Believing his mother would get better. That his life was finally on track. That he'd ever get over Becca Carstairs.

"I need to call Otto," Deb said.

Otto Dubberpuhl, the GP in Three Harbors, was the only doctor they had and had been for as long as Owen could recall. Owen had figured the guy would be in his grave by now. Doctor D had been old when they were kids, or maybe he'd just seemed so. Back then, forty was old, so Doctor D might be all of fifty now, but Owen doubted it.

Because the town was so small, Doctor D performed any autopsies. But those consisted of an explanation for a thirty-five-year-old farmer dying on his tractor and the occasional crib death. Once in a while, a domestic disaster. Still, Owen doubted he was the one to call for this.

"Maybe you should find someone with more experience in..." Owen waved at the mess. He wasn't sure what to call that.

"Doctor D took a course on forensics," Deb protested.

"I think it was called 'Accurately Portraying Forensic Science in Your Novel,'" Becca said.

Owen took a deep breath in an attempt not to laugh, choke, or cough. As the air was still heavy with the scent of ick, the gulp took care of any urge to laugh, though the choking and the coughing were touch and go for a while.

"This isn't a murder," Owen pointed out.

Becca cast him a disgusted glance. "Is too."

"Would forensic techniques work in a case involving animals?"

"Probably not," Becca said. "But there was a cla.s.s in veterinary forensics in college."

"Great!" Deb bounced on her toes as if she might actually start to cheer like the good old days. G-R-E-A-T! GRRREAT! "Go nuts, Becca."

"I didn't say I took it."

"You didn't?" Deb's face became crestfallen.

Becca shook her head so hard her hair flew around her like a fiery dervish. "Too ghoulish for me."

"Ghoulish?" the chief repeated. "I love all that CSI stuff."

"CSI on people is one thing, animals another."

She had a point. How many books, movies, and television shows portrayed the graphic deaths of animals? Few to none. While a lot of people seemed to be overly okay with human mutilation, torture, and b.l.o.o.d.y death, they were equally squeamish about the same in regard to animals.

Owen cast a glance at the table, swallowed, and turned away. He could see why.

"Veterinary forensics involves cases of abuse, mutilation, fighting rings-dogs, roosters." Becca jabbed a finger at the spectacle that had ruined Owen's living room. Probably forever. "And that. Whatever it is."

"What are we going to do?" Chief Deb asked.

"We?" Owen repeated. He had no clue about forensics-human, animal, or otherwise.

"I can call the professor," Becca said. "See if he has a recommendation."

Deb hesitated. She probably didn't want to admit the inadequacy of her force-who would?-but in the end what choice did she have?

"That would be good. Thanks."

Becca took her phone out of her pocket, touched the screen. "I've got his number."

If she hadn't taken the cla.s.s, then why did she have the professor in her contacts list?

She lifted the phone to indicate upstairs, where the cell signal lived. "I'll give Jeremy a call and be right back."

If she hadn't taken the cla.s.s, why was he Jeremy? If she had taken the cla.s.s why would he be Jeremy? Wouldn't he be Professor Whatever?

Owen stood in the hall stewing while Chief Deb poked around the crime scene. He didn't think that was a good idea. Wouldn't it be better to leave it alone until an expert showed up? But she was the cop, not him.

At the sound of footsteps on the staircase, Owen moved into the living room so Becca wouldn't see him hovering in the hall trying to eavesdrop on a conversation he had no prayer of hearing over that distance. He didn't have ears like Reggie.

"He's coming himself," Becca said.

"Swell," Owen muttered.

"He's the best forensic veterinarian in the Midwest."

"How many are there?"

"Don't know, don't care. Jeremy will be here in the morning."

"Doesn't he have a cla.s.s to teach?"

A coed to boink?

"He'll cancel." She waved a hand toward the five-pointed star on the wall. "The pentagram intrigued him."

"That's a pentagram?" Deb asked, tilting her head right, then left, then right again as she studied it.

"Isn't it?" Becca glanced at Owen.

"My geometry grades were s.h.i.+t." Along with the rest of them.

"Mine were more like c.r.a.p, but I think that's what they call those. If not, Jeremy should know." Becca bit her lip, sighed.

Owen knew that look, that sigh. "What else?"

"Jeremy said that a pentagram is a Wiccan symbol."

"He thinks witches did this?"

"No."

"You just said-"

"A pentagram is a Wiccan symbol, but those who practice Wicca believe that they should harm none." She pointed at the table. "That's pretty harmful."

"I never thought I'd see anything like this in Three Harbors," Owen said.

"None of us did."

Silence settled over them.

"Well, let's move along." Chief Deb made a shooing gesture.

Becca moved; Owen did not.

"Good night," Owen said.

The chief blinked. "You can't stay here."

"It's my d.a.m.n house."

"It's a crime scene."

"Not really."

"Yes, really," Becca interjected. "Jeremy said we should leave it as undisturbed as possible."

Owen had to force himself to unclench his teeth, which had automatically ground together the instant she said Jeremy again. He indicated his trashed house. "I think that s.h.i.+p sailed a long time ago."

"Nevertheless..." Chief Deb shooed him again.

Though he didn't want to stay here, not with that there, Owen refused to be shooed. He'd taken great pains not to be seen walking today; he wasn't going to ruin that now.

"You'll have to stay somewhere else, Owen," Deb said.

"I don't have anywhere else."

The silence that followed that statement made him wish it back even before Becca spoke.

"You can-"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I'm not staying at your place."

"I didn't ask you to."

"She can barely fit in her place." Deb eyed Owen. "You never would."