Anna Denning Mystery Series Box Set: Books 1–3 Read online

  “Cookies.” Liz set a plate in the center of the table.

  “Thanks.” Anna took a cookie with her left hand, chewed, and continued to examine the photo on the screen. It was as blurred and dark as she’d thought. The camera’s flash had reflected off the driver’s window, obscuring it, but the back window, the partly open one, was visible. There was no face behind it, only a coat held up to cover a face. And she could swear it was a green coat. A heavy one, of wool or thick cotton, not a shiny parka or some kind of nylon-shelled jacket.

  She pivoted the computer so Liz could see the screen. “What color would you say this coat is?”

  Liz leaned in. “Green. Maybe a funky brown-green.” She started to reach for her second cookie but stopped, her hand motionless over the plate. “Oh. Darlene’s coat.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “Who else would it be?” Liz took a bite of the cookie and munched furiously before continuing. “What about Darlene and her money?” She pulled the laser printouts toward her and found the page on Darlene. “The rent for What Ye Will is huge. Too much for most divorced women to take on, and it’s not like she has customers lining up at her door this time of year. Elk Park is slow in the winter.” She pointed at a line on the page. “Here’s her ex-husband’s name.”

  Anna started typing. Grace once told her how she struggled to keep the Buffalo Café open in the winter. A lot of downtown store owners did. Most of them had to scrape by until tourist season. And Liz was right, Darlene wasn’t exactly overwhelmed with customers.

  “They had a house in Telluride,” Liz said, scanning the paper. “Their divorce settlement was public info.”

  Anna stopped typing and looked at Liz. “Did they sell the house?”

  “Yeah, and she got the proceeds. I’ll bet he cheated on her or left her. Doesn’t say how much she got, but Telluride, come on. Lots of money.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “So we have two wealthy witches, Susan and Darlene. I wonder if Darlene’s employees have money.”

  “Jazmin doesn’t. And if her parents do, they’re not sharing it with her. Jason and Monica seem to be doing well, but they’re independent contractors. I think they make a so-so amount of money selling smudge sticks to Darlene. Rowan’s doing better than Jazmin. He has enough money to buy a latte every morning, anyway, but I don’t think he’s well off. And that reminds me.” She returned to the genealogy site and typed in a name. “Would you say that’s how you spell Smolak?” she asked Liz, pointing at the screen.

  “That’s my guess. Rowan’s real last name?”

  “Yes.” Anna pulled the computer closer. Names crowded the screen. There were dozens of Smolaks in the Allegheny County, Pennsylvania, birth records going back eighteen to twenty-five years, about the time Rowan must have been born.

  “See anything?”

  “No, there are too many Smolaks. I need Rowan’s real first name and at least one of his parent’s names, or the name of the town where he was born. He only said ‘near Pittsburgh.’”

  “How are you going to get all that?”

  Anna gave Liz a matter-of-fact look. “I’m going to ask.” She started for the kitchen. Jazmin owed her one, she told herself, and she was going to collect. She found her purse on the counter near the garage door, retrieved the scrap of paper with Jazmin’s phone and address written on it, and began dialing on the kitchen phone.

  A minute later she was gesturing wildly for a pen. She scribbled notes on a napkin then hung up the phone, thanking Jazmin and promising her not to say anything to Rowan. “Seth Smolak, Canonsburg, Pennsylvania,” she announced. “She remembers the town because Rowan used to joke about a singing Perry Como statue there.”

  “A Perry Como what?”

  “I’ll explain later.” Anna focused on her computer, typing rapidly. “She doesn’t know his father or mother’s name, but she says his brothers are Derek and Milo, and all three are close in age. Rowan’s twenty-one.”

  “Milo?” Liz said. “How cruel of his parents.”

  “Unusual names are a genealogist’s best friend.” Anna checked the web results and found a Milo Smolak born in Canonsburg, about three years older than Rowan, and no other Milo Smolaks. Jackpot, she thought.

  She cross-checked with another database and found Milo’s parents, Evaline Granton and Luke Smolak, then found a birth record database for children born to Evaline and Luke. There they were, Milo and Derek. Derek had been born two years after Milo. But where was Seth? The year spread in the database easily covered the year of his birth. “This is odd. I can find everyone but Seth.”

  “What does that mean? Is Rowan a space alien? A pod pagan?” Liz grinned and grabbed her fourth or fifth cookie. “What are you looking for now?”

  “There’s another possibility. I mean, besides him being a pod pagan.” Anna searched for another database and clicked on it. “Here we go. Records show he was living with the Smolaks ten years ago, when he was still a child.” She clicked again. “Two years later, Rowan was still with them. But fifteen years ago, no Rowan. Just Milo and Derek.” She stared at the monitor, considering. “I’ll bet he was adopted.”

  “Or fostered?”

  Anna studied the record on screen. “His last name is Smolak in the records. They must have legally adopted him. Knowing Rowan, that’s probably part of his reluctance to talk about his past.”

  “What about Jazmin?”

  “She told me her real name is Hayley Todd, Hayley after Hayley Mills, and Todd’s probably with two d’s.”

  “Hayley Mills the actress?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I remember watching The Trouble with Angels on TV. In the late seventies, I think. And Pollyanna.” Liz lifted her head and stared at the ceiling, lost in reverie.

  Anna tapped the Enter key and waited for the results. “There are only four Hayley Todds in all of Montana,” she said. “Here. Eighteen years old. Born in Laurel, Montana, to Marcy P. McDermott and David W. Todd. An older sister named Chloe. Has to be her. Jazmin mentioned a sister.” Anna pushed her computer closer to the center of the table and reached for the cookie plate. “I just don’t know where I’m going with this. I don’t see how any of it fits.”

  Liz brought herself back down to earth. “I wish I could help, but I’m stumped too.”

  “Have you heard anything about the police investigation into Susan’s murder?”

  “No progress that I know of. They’ve interviewed everyone, including Darlene, by the way.” She made certain Anna stopped typing long enough to hear her next sentence. “That’s probably why she’s so mad at you.”

  “Liz, she was mad the day I met her, when I didn’t cower before her as she rhapsodized about the winter solstice.”

  Liz turned to look at the front door. She said nothing.

  “What is it?” Anna asked.

  “Nothing, nothing.” Liz shook her head as though she were trying to dislodge a disturbing but stubborn thought. “Do you ever wonder about Darlene?” she said, turning back to Anna. “I’ve talked to people about her and some of them are scared. They stop me as soon as I say her name. It’s like they’re afraid she’ll find out in some magical way that they spoke to me.”

  Anna smiled. “You’re not letting them get to you, are you?”

  “That chant tonight made my skin crawl.”

  “That’s why they did it, Liz.”

  “You’re not scared even a little?”

  Anna leaned back in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m scared of someone who would kill a bird and nail it to a branch. Or get someone to do it for her. Someone who would tie a harmless dog to a tree by the neck and leave him there. Yeah, that scares me. That kind of person might do anything. But not witchcraft, no.”

  “You don’t believe in witches?” Liz raised her hands and wiggled her fingers. “Woo-ooo?”

  “I believe there are people deluded by witchcraft, and some of them are evil.”

  Liz grew s
erious, as if at the mention of evil, new possibilities had emerged. “If Darlene’s the one doing all this, or even instigating it, there’s something very wrong with her. There is evil in this world, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “And she wasn’t alone tonight.”

  “No.”

  “I understand why you’re fighting back, but part of me wishes you’d just leave it alone.”

  “That wouldn’t do any good.”

  “You could try.”

  “She dragged me into this, Liz. She didn’t have to. She did it for pure spite. There’s nothing she likes more than a sense of power. And what she, or they, did to Sean’s mandolin and Jackson”—she pointed toward the couch—“was the end for me. No more.” Anna felt tears form in her eyes. “Darlene isn’t going to stop on her own. I have to stop her.”

  “There’s more power in prayer than in anything Darlene can do,” Liz said, “or anything you can do. Dan and I have been praying for you.”

  Anna wanted to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. They once had come easily to her. Thank you for praying. Effortless words. But she’d paid a price in her life—Sean had paid a price—and effortless thank-yous were bitter on her tongue. She could tell Gene Westfall she’d pray for his father, but she couldn’t accept a prayer for herself. How many times had Liz told her she was praying for her? She’d said it again, tonight, and again her friend waited in vain for a response.

  “And you’ve got your .357,” Liz said. “I hope you keep it loaded.”

  “You bet.” Anna remembered Sean’s instructions on the firing range. Remember how to hold the weapon. Two hands. If you don’t have time to sight the weapon, align the barrel with the intruder’s chest. Fire two shots. Double tap. Never fewer than two. Decide beforehand that you will do this. You must not hesitate.

  Anna brushed her hair from the right side of her face, wishing away thoughts of guns and having to use them. In truth, she’d always thought it was Sean who would have to make the decision to fire on another human being if it came to that. Never her. She took the empty cookie plate to the kitchen.

  Liz swiveled in her chair. “So you think Darlene did all this? The bird, breaking into your house?”

  “Darlene or one of her minions.” Anna waved a hand at Liz’s papers. “You said you had Darlene’s birthday?”

  “Yeah.” Liz ran a finger down the page then came to a stop. “June 17, 1961, in Santa Rosa, California.”

  Anna went back to her computer, typed a few words, then hit the Enter key. “I wonder how Darlene came to live in Colorado. Got a pen?” She propped her elbows on the table and searched the results on the screen. “Here’s a Darlene P. Nagel born on that date, to Marianne W. Kellner and Carl Edward Nagel, both of Santa Rosa. That’s a pretty safe bet.”

  Liz pulled a pen from her purse and Anna angled the laptop’s screen toward her.

  “Let me check something else.” Anna pulled the laptop back and started typing. “She was probably an only child. I don’t see any other children born to Kellner and Nagel. Not in California, anyway.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Once I find the parents’ names I can sometimes do a reverse search for both parents, or either one alone, to see if they had any more children in the state.

  “It’s like spying, isn’t it? I love it.”

  “Got it!” Anna pumped a victory fist in the air. “Marianne W. Kellner, age twenty-nine, married Carl E. Nagel two years before Darlene was born in Petaluma, California.” She tapped away at the keyboard. “Which is just down the road from Santa Rosa. So Marianne Kellner would have been born about 1930.”

  “I’m writing,” Liz said, continuing to take notes. “What does it mean?”

  “Nothing yet, but it will,” Anna said triumphantly. “I love it when the names and dates click and lead me to more names and dates. I’m putting a picture of Darlene’s family together. I wonder how many witches she has in her family tree. Rowan told me she comes from a long line of them.”

  “Weird thing,” Liz said thoughtfully. “You think some of them would have broken the chain, not wanted to be a witch.”

  “Apparently one did. Marianne, Darlene’s mother. Rowan said she hated Darlene’s interest in witchcraft.”

  The two turned at the sound of a soft thump on the wood floor. Jackson had hopped off the couch and was circling the tree, sniffing its branches.

  “It stinks of patchouli,” Anna said, watching Jackson examine branch after branch. “Even with the athame gone.”

  “They ought to update their scents. Patchouli is so sixties.” Liz rose, headed into the kitchen, and began rifling through the cupboard near the refrigerator. “Can I make some herb tea?”

  “Sure. Hey, boy.” Anna extended a hand, calling her dog to her side. “Jackson can still smell her, or him. Whoever was in my house. I’m not leaving you alone again, am I?” She gave his neck and shoulders a vigorous scratch and Jackson dropped his head into her lap. “Maybe it’s time the two of us paid a surprise visit to a witch.”

  “What?” Liz set the kettle on the stove and looked at Anna. “You’re not serious.”

  “I’m very serious. Darlene used me to threaten Tom Muncy and she had something to do with that bird and hurting Jackson.” She made a sweeping motion with her hand. “It’s time I stopped playing defense.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “They invaded my life, my home. It’s time I invaded theirs.”

  18

  Jackson hopped out of the Jimmy onto the curb. Anna leaned into the car and pulled his blanket from the seat and onto her laptop computer on the floor, hiding it from view. She hoped to do more web research later, going back to where it all started, Susan’s family tree. Maybe she’d park in front of What Ye Will and pull her computer out there, with Darlene watching. She almost laughed at the thought.

  She looked toward the Buffalo Café and saw Rowan leaning against the building, his right hand wrapped around a coffee cup and propped on Cody the buffalo’s hind end. He held a cigarette in the other hand and was puffing hard on it, as if trying to wear it down to a stub in record time.

  Anna locked the Jimmy and headed up the sidewalk. Good thing Rowan was there, she thought. No need to enter the foul-smelling What Ye Will to talk to him. And talk to him she would.

  Rowan caught sight of Anna, and it seemed to her that he stiffened a bit, steeling himself for the encounter. She smiled as she approached. She’d try the pleasant-chat route first, probably to no avail, then ask the hard questions. Did he know about the car last night? Had he been at the wheel? And Jackson. Who tied him to a tree? Did Rowan have any idea what would happen to that person when Anna found out?

  The faint upward curl of Rowan’s lip disappeared as he eyes fell on Jackson. He dropped his cigarette, put it out with a twist of his tennis shoe, and mouthed “Sorry” as he pointed toward What Ye Will and started for the street.

  Anna called out to him and he wheeled back just as he stepped from the curb. “What?”

  “I just want to ask you a couple questions. It’s important.”

  “Forget it—you’re such a hypocrite.”

  “What?”

  “You steal.”

  “You know darn well—”

  “And you don’t help people. Darlene helps people.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rowan.” She walked toward him and he stepped farther into the street.

  “Your friend, for one.” He pointed at his coffee cup and continued to back slowly into the street. “She just told me she can’t take a wreath to her husband’s grave because nobody will help her.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, I know you don’t. That’s what I mean.” He turned his back to her and sprinted across the street.

  “He sure didn’t want to talk to me, did he, boy?” Anna gave her dog a pat. Maybe it was Jackson that Rowan had wanted to avoid. Any dog would remember the mon
ster who tied him to a tree.

  She looked back at What Ye Will. Rowan had reached the door but was making no move to go inside. He checked his watch then stood outside, hands in his pocket, shuffling his feet in the cold. Anna decided to talk to him later, and if that meant walking into the store, so be it. In fact, maybe she’d walk into the store just for the sake of doing it.

  She started up the walk again, stopping at Buckhorn’s window. Gene Westfall was inside, arranging calendars for the new year on a display stand. Moving closer to the window, she tried to get his attention with a wave, but he was too intent on his task to notice her. She stepped back and gave the window the once-over, looking for her poster. Still not there. How long did it take to tape a poster to a window? Why didn’t he have an employee do it? Why was he making her wait, knowing how important it was to her, how unfairly Tom had treated her, and how her business was being damaged right now in untold ways?

  She pulled open the door, sounding the bell, and Gene looked up from his calendars.

  “Hey, glad you’re here,” he said, a smile washing over his face. He piled several boxes into one neat stack, pushed it against the display, and walked toward her. “Merry Christmas Eve.”

  “Yeah.” She held up Jackson’s leash. “I always seem to have my dog with me when I stop by.”

  “He’s welcome in the store. My dog’s always here, remember?”

  “I remember.” She knew she had to barrel ahead, just say it, before she lost her courage. “Listen, those posters I had printed are pretty expensive, and I can’t afford to have them gathering dust, so if you could return the one I gave you, I can have it placed elsewhere.”

  “Your ad poster?”

  “Yes, that’s it.” She looked at him with what she hoped would be only a mildly scathing expression. He hadn’t been unkind, she reasoned, just forgetful.

  He walked back to the display stand and reached behind a second stack of boxes. He pulled out her poster, now in a turquoise-colored aluminum frame, and held it out. “This one?”