Under Suspicion, With Child

“Down here, dear,” Hazel Baker called out.

As she descended into the basement, the thought that someone creepy had slipped down here to steal leaves from the henbane plant sent shivers of fear over her. What had once been an exciting place to play hide-and-seek now gave her the heebie-jeebies with images of spiderwebs, monsters and shadowy creatures taunting her healthy imagination. Not until she reached the bottom of the stairs did she remember to breathe.

In the far corner, the fluorescent lighting glowed over long tables lined with every kind of herb and plant imaginable. Her mother carefully cultivated the herbs for her homeopathic remedies to common ailments. Jocelyne was familiar with most of them, but she preferred to do her herb gardening in the outside greenhouse, not the basement. She’d inventoried her own plants, but she wasn’t sure what her mother kept below the inn, besides the henbane.

The enormous old mansion had been converted to a boarding-house and inn over a half century ago, with a low-ceiling basement running the full length. Floor joists and massive timbers held the rest of the three-story structure aloft, with the structural beams breaking up the space every sixteen feet.

Dried herbs hung from nails on beams, baskets littered the floor and shelves lined the walls. Everywhere she looked were plastic containers, leather pouches and ceramic pots filled with things even Jocelyne didn’t dare to inquire about.

Her mother knew what was in each pot, pan, tub and sack. With the utmost care, she stored the herbs and ingredients she used in her decoctions for spells, potions and remedies.

“Back here. I’m in the middle of something.” Across the floor, Hazel Baker’s shimmering green-and-purple blouse and matching skirt reflected the light shining over an open book. Gold bangles dangled from her wrists, clinking with each movement of her arms and hands.

Her mother was most likely working on a potion or brew she planned to use on a member of the community, or worse, as a basis for a spell. Many of her vile-smelling concoctions managed to turn Jocelyne’s stomach. Not a good thing for a pregnant woman.

As she fought the bile rising in her she wondered why she’d thought her mother might have changed. For over four decades, Hazel Baker had been a firm believer in all things Wicca, practicing the ancient pagan religion for the good of her body and her community, even if it cost her daughter dearly. Jocelyne sighed. “Remedy or potion?”

“Potion.”

“Mom, I thought you said you’d quit making potions.”

“I can’t, honey.” She glanced at the page in the book and then added ingredients to a cauldron of murky liquid, bubbling over a small gas stove, set against the wall. “Raven’s Cliff needs me.”

“Why?”

Hazel turned back to the ancient book, passed down to her by her mother, and lifted a yellowed page, laying it over gently. The Book of Shadows had been lovingly cared for by generations of women from her mother’s family. “I know you don’t like it when I practice my faith, but you have to understand.” She gripped the corners of the book, her fingers turning white with the force, her normally happy face paling as she spoke. “There’s evil here. I can feel it in my bones, in my skin, in the air I breathe.” She faced her daughter, her dark-green eyes glowing with the intensity of her conviction.

A chill snaked across Jocelyne’s skin and the muscles in the back of her neck tightened. She understood evil and bad omens. She’d been cursed with them for as long as she could remember. That didn’t make it right to publicly acknowledge evil’s existence. Nor to get everyone in town up in arms over something that might be nonexistent.

She shook her head from side to side. “Mom, there’s evil everywhere, but there’s also good. You shouldn’t dwell on the bad.” How many times had she told herself the same thing? Did she really adhere to her own words, or was it just lip service?

“I know, I know. But I can’t let the evil continue to eat at the very foundation of Raven’s Cliff. Too many horrible things have happened already.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to whip up something incredibly nauseating to cure what ails this community.” Jocelyne pressed the paper towel to her nose and breathed, the stench finding its way through the layers of absorbent paper.

“I have to cure the curse.”

“Mom, you’re blowing this whole curse thing way out of proportion.”

“Then how do you explain the Seaside Strangler? After the lighthouse burned, he struck that very next day, taking poor Rebecca Johnson. He tried to kill his second victim, but she got away before he could. Then he killed Cora McDonald and Sofia Lagios. All of them strangled with a seashell necklace.”

The name hit Jocelyne full in the gut. “Did you say Lagios?” She laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “Was she any relation to Andrei Lagios?”

Her mother nodded, her eyes filling. “His little sister. She and her friend were murdered not too long ago on the night of their prom. Horrible tragedy.”

So that explained Andrei’s burning desire to catch the killer at all costs. Sorrow washed over Jocelyne, filling her chest with a deep ache. Andrei was still in mourning for his sister.

Being gone for ten years, she’d apparently missed more than the usual small town gossip.

“You see, I have to break this curse so that the town can finally live in peace.”

“Mom, one potion won’t cure a town of evil.”

“I’m pulling out the strongest potions and spells in my Book of Shadows. I’ll find the cure, if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Aren’t you worried the townspeople will just make fun of you? You know what they think about your beliefs.”

Her mother’s brows dipped deeper. “And what do you think?”

Jocelyne held her tongue. She’d only been back a few days, back to mend fences and find resolution with her past. Her purpose was not to accuse her mother of being a nutcase ready for a one-way ticket to the loony bin with her very own monogrammed straitjacket. No matter what her mother believed or what she did, at her core, she meant well and strove to help others find peace and contentment.

Contentment. An elusive state Jocelyne had yet to achieve. She’d run away from Raven’s Cliff in search of herself and peace of mind. That she was back spoke of her failure.

If Jocelyne had learned one thing in her hiatus from her hometown, she’d learned that when life took away everything, and you felt you had nothing left, you still had family. As if reminding her of the fact, a sharp pain jabbed her ribs. “I’ll tell you what I think, Mom. I love you and I don’t want to see you hurt.”

She rounded the worktable and picked her way over a hefty bag of potting soil, tamping down all her frustrations long enough to wrap her arms around her mother. She seemed smaller and more fragile than Jocelyne remembered from ten years ago. The vibrant red hair she’d once worn loose and wild was streaked with gray and pulled into a neat chignon at the back of her head. Her once lovely face bore smudged brown age spots. When had her mother grown old? “Please, Mom, don’t stir up trouble. I couldn’t bear to see you laughed at.”

Her mother pushed her to arm’s length, her hands gripping her upper arms hard enough to bruise. “Honey, I don’t give a rat’s you-know-what who laughs at me. However, I do care about this town and the people who live here. I can’t stand by and let the evil consume my home.”

Jocelyne’s belly tightened painfully. Drawing on her yoga training, she pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay. I know you have to do what you think is best.” Extricating herself from her mother’s grasp, Jocelyne stepped back, bumping into the bag of potting soil. “You’re going to trip over that, if you’re not careful.”

Her mother smoothed her hands down her dress, her shaky chuckle warming the damp air. “I’ll trip over it or you will?”

A smile twitched Jocelyne’s lips. “Okay. I’ll trip over it, if I’m not careful.” She stared down at the bag. “Are you using potting soil in your potion?”

“Oh, no, sweetie.” She shook her head. “Mr. Gibson brought it down the stairs for me just before you came down. I meant to tell him to stack it over by the grow lights, but my pot started to boil over about that time.” She stirred the contents of the cauldron and sniffed the brew. “Helpful man. I hate to ask, but he doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it.” Jocelyne bent to lift the bag, but when she tried, the muscles in her sides and back protested. Just another reminder that she was pregnant and unable to do things she normally had no problems with. “Sorry, Mom, no can do. It must weigh fifty or sixty pounds.”

“That’s why I asked Mr. Gibson to carry it down, dear. It was too bulky for me to maneuver down those narrow old steps.”

“I’ll see about getting someone to move it for you.” In a minute or two. First she wanted to find out more about the comings and goings of the guests and employees of the inn. “Mom, who, besides you and Alex Gibson, comes down in this basement?”

“I’m the only one who comes down on a regular basis.” She set the spoon on the stove top and switched the burner off.

“I know you do. But does anyone else ever come down?”

“Well, let’s see.” Her mother tipped her head to the side and tapped a finger to her chin. “Leah comes to the basement for the linens that go on the dining table. She also helps me with the cooking and occasionally comes down for pantry staples and spices.” Her mother stared across the room at her. “Why do you ask?”

Jocelyne wasn’t sure what she should tell her mother. What did she say? The henbane plant in your basement might bethe source of the drug used on the Seaside Strangler victims? Jocelyne decided less was better. “Just curious. Do your guests ever come down?”

“Some do. Mr. Gibson delivered the potting soil today and has come down a time or two while I’ve been mixing remedies. He’s quite interested in natural healing arts and learning more about Wicca. A veritable sponge of knowledge, that man. Other than him…I don’t recall. My boarders have additional storage in the old stables out back. Don’t worry. I keep my Book ofShadows locked in a chest when I’m not down here.” She propped her fists on her hips. “Now, my turn. Tell me about the man Leah told me helped you with breakfast this morning.”

“What do you know about Andrei?”

“Only that he’s a nice young man. Are you two seeing each other?”

Jocelyne’s face heated and she scrambled for a reason to escape. “I really should get back to my work. I have several orders to fill and mail out today.”