The Hexed. Heather Graham
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There was a slight pause. Gayle and Beth exchanged a long look filled with something he couldn’t decipher.
“She doesn’t actually see people,” Beth said.
“She’s something of a hermit,” Gayle added.
Gayle Alden was Sheena Marston, Rocky thought.
“Are the pieces exclusive through you?” he asked Beth.
“They are now. In previous years, a number of shops carried her work, but I convinced her that being exclusive would be to her advantage,” Beth said.
“I’m sure Beth and the Haunted Dragon will have more soon,” Gayle said.
“Are you a Wiccan, Rocky?” Beth asked.
“No, but I think the pieces are beautiful,” he said.
“I’m so glad you like them,” Gayle said. “I’m guessing you’re thinking of getting one as a gift for someone. So many people think that only Wiccans should wear them. And a lot of others think they’re associated with devil worship, or that they’re just plain evil. In fact, there’s nothing evil about them.” She pointed to a pentagram-shaped paperweight on the counter. “From the top and moving clockwise, the points represent spirit, water, fire, earth and air.”
She met his eyes and continued. “There’s nothing evil about the pentagram or the modern practice of Wicca, which was established by a man named Gerald Gardner in 1954, with practices based on ancient pagan traditions. Laurie Cabot, arguably the most famous Wiccan high priestess, came to Salem in the 1970s and popularized Wicca here. And just as Christianity has many sects, so does Wicca. Some are traditional, others revere figures a lot like Christian saints. But none of them are evil.”
“Are you a Wiccan?” Rocky asked her.
She flushed. “No. Congregational church. But people here in Salem respect everyone’s beliefs. Or those of us you’d want to know do, anyway.”
He smiled. “Gotcha.”
The little bell rang as a group of tourists came into the shop. Gayle excused herself, and then Beth went to help a couple who were interested in the jewelry under the counter.
“Did that help you any?” Devin asked Rocky as they left.
He didn’t get a chance to answer her, because she’d been looking at him as she spoke, and now she plowed straight into another man.
“Devin! Hey, sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” she said quickly, backing away.
The man was almost Rocky’s height; he had slightly silvered hair, which somehow added to an impression of being debonair—or a lecher, one or the other.
“Completely my fault,” the man said. He looked at Rocky with raised brows.
Was that jealousy? Rocky wondered.
“Theo, meet Rocky Rockwell. Rocky, Theo Hastings. Theo works for Beth, too.”
They shook hands.
“Old friends?” Theo asked lightly.
“From Boston,” Rocky said, avoiding a direct answer.
“Oh, well, pleased to meet you,” Theo said. “Devin, always wonderful to see you.”
He smiled and moved on.
“Interesting character,” Rocky said.
“I think pretty much everything about him—including his claim to be Wiccan—might be an act,” Devin said. “His way of making it here. Anyway, I should get back.”
“Of course.”
“If you’re looking for a restaurant later, I can suggest a new one for you. It’s at the old jail. The place is apartments now, with the restaurant on the ground floor.”
“Thanks.”
They headed to the car, and he drove the short distance to her house. He got out and went around to open her door, but she’d already opened it by the time he got there.
“You’ve got my card, right?” he asked her.
“Yes, of course. And I’ll call you if I think of anything that might help,” she promised.
Still, he hesitated. “How well do you know Gayle Alden?” he asked her.
She arched her brows. “I’ve known her forever. She was one of my teachers in high school. She retired last year and went to work for Beth.”
“What did she teach?”
“History.” Devin was silent, a smile playing across her lips. “You don’t think that Gayle could possibly—”
“I think that Gayle Alden is Sheena Marston.”
That genuinely surprised Devin, who shrugged after a minute. “I have to say, that’s possible. We did a lot of reenactments in class, and she made a lot of the jewelry and things for the costumes.”
He nodded. “What about the old guy?”
“The old guy?” she asked.
“The one you crashed into.”
Devin laughed. “Oh, Theo. He would be devastated that you called him an old guy.”
“How long have you known him?”
“A year or so. I think he’s from Ohio.” Her smile faded and she frowned thoughtfully. “Do you really think...I mean...is it possible that the person who killed thirteen years ago is back?”
“I don’t know, and that makes me nervous. I’m sure you don’t have anything to worry about, but even so, be careful. If something seems suspicious, call the cops. Or call me. Do you have anything you can use for protection?”
“I really do wield a wicked hockey stick.”
He smiled. “I’m going to get you some pepper spray. I’ll call you before I bring it over so you’ll know it’s me.”
“Sure. Thanks,” she told him. “Well...” She smiled again and headed toward her door. He followed her up the little stone path.
“I just want to make sure—” He began.
“That I lock the door.”
“Yes.”
“I will,” she promised.
They both hesitated.
“Want me to walk through the house—just check it out?” he asked her.
“Um, sure. That’s not a bad idea. Ever. I guess.”
She moved to one side so he could enter first, then followed him as he went from room to room, and looked in closets and under the beds. He checked all her windows and the back door. At last he was satisfied.
“You’re alone—well, except for Poe, of course,” he told her.
“Thank you.”
He could tell that she was waiting for him to leave, so he did, but he waited outside the door until he heard the bolt slide into place.
As he walked back to his car, his cell phone rang.
It was Jackson Crow. He was official. And several other agents would be joining him shortly.
* * *
Devin finished cutting up bits of fruit for Poe and walked back into the parlor. “Hey, boy, you know what? I’m not so fond of Mr. FBI. I was living this nice happy life, just getting back into something approaching a social life with old friends, and now he has me doubting all of them.”
Poe had no answer. He was interested only in the fruit she was offering him.
“Meanwhile,