Chapter 14

Unlike her daughter Cinnamon, Lava Lambert loved her name. She also loved the sleepy little town they called home. It gave off a pink aura, which made her feel comfortable enough to make an attempt to grow roots there. Being a single parent had been tough on her, yet she managed to raise a very mature and intelligent daughter—one she didn’t always see eye-to-eye with. Lava liked to blame it on their Zodiac signs. She was a Scorpio and Cinnamon was a Leo. Water and fire were complete opposites. She could attest to that. Lava believed in things she couldn’t see or touch, something Cinnamon never could fully understand. Before she would blindly believe in something that wasn’t tangible, one had to provide many facts to Cinnamon’s stern scientific mind. They clashed often, spiritual Lava silent as a frustrated Cinnamon lectured. There never was a declared winner during their many deliberations.

Darkness fell over the sky with a hint of lavender on the horizon. Lava drove slowly, listening to music of the 70’s and humming off-key. She had spent the day at the retirement home on the south side of town, teaching yogi exercises to the able-bodied residents. When Lava had to entrust her mother to the tender care of a retirement home ten years ago, she had promised herself that she would devote a day a week, volunteering at one no matter where she lived. So many of the residents were lonely, rarely getting visitors. Lava had a feeling that she would probably end up in one when she was beyond caring for herself. But she didn’t worry about that now. She was in her prime, even if she was almost touching forty.

She slammed on her car brakes the moment she turned onto her street. Every nerve fiber, every goose bump emitted a chill that almost caused her to faint from over stimulation. Something wasn’t right with the aura. Her intuition told her to run, to turn around and not look back. But she couldn’t. She had a daughter to think about—not her own cowardly hide. With her stomach fluttering with a million butterflies, Lava drove down the street. She pulled into her driveway without noticing the patrol car sitting in front of Roman Ouellette’s house, nor the one across the street at the creepy McHenry house. What she noticed was a tall man of sculptured stone standing at her door, arm poised as if to knock. Her headlights blinded him and he was the epitome of a deer caught in headlights. His badge glowed ominously right before she cut the lights and killed the engine.

Lava hurried out of the car, as he stood waiting. Her bag caught in the door handle, causing her to bounce back against the car. She fought with it, but it wouldn’t untangle. The officer stood for a moment watching her. When it was obvious she was losing, he hurried over to help her.

“Let me do it. You’re making it worse.” His voice was very gruff and full of testosterone, the kind that men of authority love to use. He was six feet, give or take an inch. He towered over her five-foot frame. She felt small and helpless, as he worked to free the handles of her bag. “There you go. You were going clockwise when you should have went counter clockwise.”

“Thank you,” she said, as she took her bag from him, feeling like a character in a Three Stooges film. He followed her to the porch. She climbed the front steps but stopped when she was slightly taller than him. She looked down at him and asked, “May I help you?”

His bemused expression flitted briefly. He mastered it and put on his professional mask. Extending his hand he introduced himself, “I’m Sheriff Eric Eckle. And I’m here to talk to you about the murder of Mrs. Moira Denton and the break-in at the McHenry house.”

WC 8870

Chapter 13

For the second time that day, yellow tape isolated another house from the curiosity of a nervous crowd. Darkness fell as the authorities worked on gathering evidence. When the coroner arrived, the crowd settled into silence only broken by an occasional whispered prayer. Mrs. Denton left her beloved home wearing a black bag. Her salon-tinted hair blue now matted with blood and her favorite sweater also ruined were hidden from the curious eyes of the crowd. Something she would have been happy to know, because she never did like not looking her best.

Sheriff Eckle and Deputy Hunter huddled in a corner, quietly discussing the day’s event, while the other worker bees droned on with their duties. “Now who would want to kill Mrs. Denton, Sheriff?”

“Wish I knew Hunter. I can’t imagine her having many enemies. Hell, the kids teased her but none of them would kill her. Damn Hunter, whoever did kill her…they used over killed. The back of her head looked like mush.”

“I talked to the Deputy who drove her home. He said she was slightly upset, but mostly she was excited about her find. Her fifteen minutes of fame. When he helped her inside, he said the house seemed secure. Not that he thoroughly checked it. Hell, I wouldn’t have either. How were we to know she was in danger?”

“Could have been a spontaneous murder. One of opportunity. Mrs. Denton’s back was to the perpetrator. As close as the table is to the stove, I bet the cane was leaning against a chair. The perp picked it up and wham…then wham a few more times. Has anyone gotten in touch with her nephew? We need to find out if anything was stolen. This could still be a simple case of a burglary gone wrong.”

“We’re working on that now, Sheriff. But I don’t think we’ll find anything missing. It looks like she was entertaining someone.” Hunter’s voice dropped, “Do you think the Lambert girl has anything to do with this? I’m not saying she does.”

“No. I don’t think so. But I’m not closing that door yet. Not until I talk to her mother. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her. If she’s anything like the daughter, I may need to question her after three cups of coffee. That kid is all brains. Smartest woman I’ve ever met. If I were twenty years younger…”

“You’re out of luck, Sheriff. Todd Roberts is smitten with her. He’s a good kid, Sheriff. Brainy and brawny. Not the type to get mixed up with the wild crowd. Unless he’s bewitched.” Hunter’s expression reflected his inner turmoil—questions on top of questions.

“Do you think you can handle things here, Hunter? Make sure you stay on the young crime lab guy’s ass. He looks pissed off. Probably missed a hot date tonight. Have Gilford to post a man outside the McHenry house for the night. It may not be related to this crime, but I believe in covering all the bases. I want to go by the morgue and talk to the coroner. Then stop by the Lambert house. See if I can find out more about them. According to the girl, they were friendly with Mrs. Denton. As for Todd, see if you can do some probing tomorrow at the high school. I’m betting old Owl-Eyes’ theory about the scene over at the McHenry house being teen related is correct.”

“I’ll do that, Sheriff. Be careful over at that house.”

“Yea, maybe I shouldn’t look into their eyes. We both know Sheriff Brown wouldn’t.” Both men suppressed a smile that would have been inappropriate under the circumstances.

WC=8208

Chapter 12

The coppery smell of blood assaulted their noses, as the sheriff and the crime lab guys walked into Mrs. Denton’s kitchen. She lay on the floor between the stove and the table, in a puddle of blood originating from her head. Her cane lay on the table, its ivory handle now as red as a ruby. Blood stained the white linen tablecloth. An array of muffins was arranged with care on a platter. Under the muffins was a lace doily, which reminded the Sheriff of how delicate and lady like Mrs. Denton had been. Scattered on the floor close to her was the broken remains of a teacup and saucer. On the stove, a kettle screamed. One of the deputies lifted it off the burner. In the silence, sobbing sounded from far away.

“Who found her?” The sheriff had his suspicions.

Dwayne Gilford, one of the older deputies answered. “Todd Roberts called it in. The witch’s daughter was with him. He said they didn’t go beyond the doorway. The girl’s hysterical.”

“Gilford, do not address Miss Lambert or her mother as witches, ever again. Even if they are, there’s no law against it. We’re to keep an open neutral mind. I’m talking to all of you. Is that clear?”

“Sorry Chief.” Gilford and the others muttered, looking uncomfortable with the chastising.

“Where’s Miss Lambert?”

“She’s in the garden with Todd and Ward. Figured it was best for them to wait out there, Chief. Its not a pretty picture in here and the girl is upset over it.”

Eckle’s voice dripped sarcasm. “Well, its nice to see you used your brain, Gilford.” To Hunter he said, “Help these guys out if they need it. I’m going to talk to the kids.”

He followed the sound of tears. It unnerved him a little, the fact that the stoic faced girl lost her composure. Her sobs echoed and Eckle felt he would hear them in his sleep tonight—if he managed to get any. When she saw him, Cinnamon threw herself in his arms. He comforted her as best as he could, never having much experience with children, he felt clumsy. When she finally calmed down, he held her hand as Todd spoke first in a shaky voice.

“The backdoor was cracked open when we got here. So I called out to her and there was no answer. We could hear the kettle on the stove, and figured she couldn’t hear our greeting. I went in first and Cinnamon followed. I saw the broken teacup on the floor and thought at first that she had fallen. Then Cinnamon screamed. That’s when I noticed the blood. We ran out. I was afraid whoever did it might be around. Cinnamon wanted to go back in but I told her that would be a bad idea. Sheriff, I could tell from all the blood that she was beyond help.”

“Is that what happened, Miss Lambert? Can you add anything?” As Todd talked, she had painfully squeezed Eckle’s hand.

“Red candles. There were read candles lit.” She began to cry once again. He dismantled himself from her and motioned for Todd to take her.

“Take your girl home. Get her to lie down for a while. See if you can find her mom. I’ll be over as soon as we’re done here.”

“Yes sir. Come on, Cinnamon. Let’s get you home.” His girl! The Sheriff called that one.
She called to the sheriff as he walked away. “Mrs. Denton didn’t get many visitors, but I did notice that she had another teacup and saucer on the table, sir. I think her nephew comes by once a week. But it’s usually in the morning. He doesn’t stay very long either.”

“Good girl. Sharp eyes. Now get on home.” On impulse he told Deputy Ward to accompany them. With a killer loose, he didn’t want to take any chances.

WC 7596

Chapter 11

With an ironclad stare that would wither the average male, Cinnamon Lambert proclaimed, “Contrary to public opinion, my mother and I are not involved in wild diablerie.” Sheriff Eckle met her eyes with a blank stare.

Todd translated, “Cinnamon and her mom aren’t witches. I’ve been over at her house a bunch of times and I’ve never been bewitched.”

“Sure you haven’t,” Eckle said under his breath. “Miss Lambert, is your mother home? I have some questions for her.”

“No. I don’t know where she could be. But she’s usually home no later than 7.”

“And your father?”

Her lips tightened until there were fine lines around them. She looked as if she were biting back bitter words. “My parents are divorced. And we have no contact with my …father.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Must be hard not having a father around.”

“We fend for ourselves. Always have and always will.”

“Well, when your mother gets in tonight tell her to stay put. I’ll be around before 9 to ask a few routine questions. In the meantime, I want you to stick close to home, young lady. Half the town is convinced you’re a witch. So stay put.”

“I will after I check on Mrs. Denton. She’s alone.” Cinnamon surprised the sheriff by offering a slender hand. “Thank you for being so professional without the brutality so many figures of authority use today. I am sure there is a logical explanation lurking underneath all this confusion. Sheriff, my Mother often tells me to listen with my inner ear, even if my eyes disagree. Maybe you should keep that in mind, sir.”

“Your mother is full of antidotes. I’m looking forward to meeting her.” He briefly took cool hand. “Now, get going.”

As the teenagers walked away, he called to Todd “Keep an eye out, Todd.” He watched them until they were out of sight. Then he hurried inside to see how the investigation was shaping up.

“Hey Boss,” Delbert greeted him. “Hot time in the city. We’ve found blood and semen. I took some samples. Both were found in the circle and semen was in the bowl of herbs—rosemary from the smell. No prints anywhere.”

“Not even on the candles?”

Owl-Eyes answered, “No. They’re burnt down to nubs. Interesting because they aren’t black—they’re dark purple. I thought witches burned black candles during their black mass.”

“And the blood?” Instead of answers, the team’s findings were giving him more questions.

“It’s small trace amounts. Could be from the intercourse. We’ll run some tests on it to be sure. I don’t think there’s been a major sacrifice. The pattern it left doesn’t suggest violence. In fact, my opinion is that no major crimes have been committed, other than sex acts, drugs maybe and practical jokes. The whole set-up reeks of teenage antics.”

The Sheriff exhaled. “That’s a relief. I don’t need a murder on my hands.”

From the doorway, Deputy Ward spoke, “Sorry Sheriff but I’m afraid we’ve got one. Mrs. Denton’s dead. Some kids just found her."

WC=6944

Chapter 10

So intent on showing the lab guys the rag doll that was found under the porch, at first Sheriff Eckle didn’t notice the crowd’s disturbance. But when he realized the girl was in danger, a string snapped in his usual calm demeanor. He meant every word he said. If he had to arrest the whole town he would without blinking his eyes. With the girl safely behind him, he watched the crowd reluctantly drift away. Once he felt the danger was over the turned to question her.

“Miss Lambert, may I ask why you crossed the police line and almost instigated a riot?”

She dropped down beside Delbert who was examining the rag doll Mrs. Denton found earlier. “Because you have Little Joe. Mother will be upset when she finds out he’s not on the back porch.” In a sharp tone to Delbert she said, “Don’t poke him. He’s very old and his fabric is delicate. Why does he smell like rosemary?”

“Ah, that’s the herb. I’ve been trying to place it,” said Delbert.

Sheriff Eckle exchanged looks with Hunter. Maybe Deputy Ward’s rumors had some truth to them. “Miss, would you care to elaborate? How is this rag doll related to you? And how did it get here? I am beginning to believe that you know more about this situation than you are admitting.”

“I have no idea how he got here, Sir. He’s been in the family since before I was born. My Grandmother Willow made him for my mother when she was a little girl. To keep out trespassers, we seat him in a chair on the back porch, so it looks as if someone is watching. You wouldn’t believe the quantity of people who slink into our backyard to spy on us.” With swiftness, Cinnamon stood up and took a few steps back, “How did red wax get on his pants?”

“Why don’t you tell us?” Her answers seemed too concise. Sheriff Eckle had his doubts. Maybe he shouldn’t look her in the eyes.

“Sir, we do not use red candles in our house. My mother is adamant about it.” Her voice shook as she spoke. It was clearly noticeable that she was upset. She felt Todd’s comforting hand on her arm. She leaned against him to gather some of his strength. Seeing the red wax dried on Little Joe’s pants set off a warning inside her. If they knew her mother, all of them would be worried too.

Sheriff Eckle motioned for Hunter to take the lab guys to the other scene, while he questioned Miss Lambert. He was trying to remain neutral regarding her and any involvement she might have with whatever went on inside. From Hunter’s expression, the Sheriff knew he was ready to brand her a witch.

“Let’s have a seat on the porch steps, Miss Lambert. You’re pale.” She hesitated, looking at the boy as if for direction. “It’s okay if your boyfriend comes along. I just want to get to the bottom of all this.”

Once they were settled comfortably on the steps, Sheriff Eckle decided he would be direct with her. She was the type who didn’t mince words. So he wouldn’t mince his either. “Miss Lambert, do you know Mrs. Denton who lives on the corner?”

“Yes Sir. She’s a sweet lady. When we moved in, she brought over a chicken casserole. Mother visits her once a month. She believes we shouldn’t ignore our elderly because they hold the keys to our past.”

“Your mother is correct. We shouldn’t ignore them, but at times we do. Well, she was harassed today by some punks on skateboards. She fell in the front lawn of this house and saw your rag doll stuffed under the porch.”

“Oh no, did she get hurt?”

“No she’s fine. She believed it was a person and called for help. A neighbor called us and an ambulance to the scene. We soon realized it was a doll, but Deputy Hunter found something inside that looks like witchcraft. That’s what the crime lab is now investigating.”

“Witchcraft? In this town? You can’t be serious.” Cinnamon couldn’t help but laugh. “How absurd! Everyone is so Baptist!”

“I’m very serious, Miss Lambert. You should be too. Your Little Joe ties you to the scene. And that my dear young lady is no laughing matter.”

WC=6434

Chapter 9

Delbert Dixon hated being on the bottom of the crime scene investigator totem pole. For the last few months, he had been dispatched to crime scenes the other investigators deemed unworthy of their time. He had just finished a 12-hour shift and was on the way to met Margie when his supervisor paged him. Now if you knew Margie, you would understand why Delbert was very irritated at having to drive over sixty miles to a dumpy town when a sweet thing waited for him, probably wearing those slinky pink panties that always got a rise out of him.

Delbert’s partner of late was Ron “Owl-Eyes” Hawkins, whose large unblinking orbs earned him his nickname. Hawkins was too old to work the scenes but too young to retire. The pair made quite a team, a young eager beaver and a rusty old codger. For the most part they had an understanding. Del did most of the evidence gathering, while Owl-Eyes made sure he didn’t screw up.

When they arrived on the scene, Owl-Eyes surprised Delbert with a sharp inhalation. “Dude, are you okay?” He asked, fearing that Hawkins was about to kill over dead.

The McHenry house was just at the point of being dilapidated enough not to have a condemned sign posted on it. But give it a few more years, and the town would have a wrecking crew tearing it down. The paint had peeled, leaving long gray streaks up and down the sides of the house, as if an invisible tiger had clawed it to death. The bushes and grass had grown up to hide much of the underbelly. They would have to be mindful of stepping on fire ants and other hidden non-treasures. Last week, Delbert stepped on a hornet’s nest and had to be rushed to the hospital. The police force always looked down on the lab technicians and never considered their jobs as dangerous as their own.

Owl-Eyes’ unflinching stare was glazed, his glassy eyes watering over the lower rims. “I hate this house. Always reminds me of death and decay. Don’t you smell the rot in the air? Its subtle but there, if you break in deep enough.”

“Don’t get morbid on me. Dude let’s get this over with. I’ve got a hottie in pink panties waiting on me.” Del wasn’t in the mood to delve into the working of Owl-Eyes’ psyche. He made a mental note to inquire about it on the drive home. Any conversation kept the drive from being so damn long. But even if he had the time, it wouldn’t have mattered. The sheriff appeared like magic beside them.

Sheriff Eckle was happy to see them. “You boys got here the fastest I’ve ever seen a team arrive. I bet you broke all the speed limits. Good job though. Maybe you can help us figure out what’s going on here, before the town burns a witch or two.”

Regaining his composure, Owl-Eyes laughed. “My young horny partner took some shortcuts, Sheriff. Leave it to a young stud to drive with his pecker.”

With a flaming face, Delbert retorted, “You’re just jealous that my pecker can stand alone and you can’t even remember what that feels like, old man.”

“Don’t confuse me with my pecker, boy. It may not be alert but that doesn’t mean I’m not. You better be thankful that I’m here to keep your dick from dragging through the crime scene. It’s all you have on your mind 99 % of the time.”

From the looks of it, a long debate of appendages was about to begin. Sheriff Eckle cleared his throat, breaking into Delbert’s snappy comeback before it left his lips. “Now boys, I’m not concerned about whose pecker is at attention. My concern is that both of you give this crime scene your complete attention right now.”

Both men laughed. Owl-Eyes smiled. “Lead the way, Sheriff.” Given a little time, Sheriff Eckle just might move out from under the old sheriff’s shadow and into his own light. As the men gathered their equipment, the crowd seemed to grow a shadow that loomed over them. It wasn’t menacing but it did hold potential.

Chapter 8

Sheriff Eckle was relieved to see the crime scene lab’s van pull into the driveway of the McHenry house ahead of schedule. He was uncomfortable around Cinnamon Lambert. His face prickled whenever the girl’s piercing eyes touched it. In them, he saw a wisdom that went beyond both their years.

He gave Deputy Hunter a pat on the back and said, “Take over.” He then sprinted over to the van to supervise the scene as the crime lab gathered evidence.

Deputy Hunter knew Todd fairly well and had seen the girl around but had never spoken to her. Rumors were that she wasn’t entirely warm to any masculine overtures. But something about the way she leaned into Todd’s protective embrace suggested she wasn’t as icy as the local youthful testosterone population implied.

He pulled a worn black notebook from the front pocket of his shirt. Flipping to a fresh page, he smiled at Cinnamon. “Miss Lambert, I need to ask you a few questions.”

Todd spoke in sotto voce, “Deputy, could you ask your questions away from probing eyes?” He nodded towards the gallery of onlookers. “Many of them were agreeing with Roman Ouellette.”

Glancing around, Deputy Hunter noted that Ward and the other deputies were having a tough time with crowd control. “Good ideal, Todd. Miss Lambert, you should go home now. I’ll be over later to ask some routine questions regarding the McHenry house.”

“Its crazy to think she or her mom have anything to do with whatever happened.” Todd spoke vehemently, angry to think how Roman had almost turned the crowd on Cinnamon.

“We’re not focusing on them. The department is asking all the residents of the neighborhood these questions.”

Cinnamon’s silence was uncannily unnatural. Deputy Hunter felt she most likely had something to say on all subjects. He wondered what had her absolute attention. Following her gaze, he saw that Sheriff Eckle and some of the crime lab guys were examining the rag doll. “Miss Lambert, did you hear…”

Ignoring both men, she said, “That looks like Little Joe.” Cinnamon broke away from Todd’s embrace and hurried over to where the sheriff stood.

“Little who?” Both men spoke at once.

“Cinnamon, wait.” Todd shouted as she crossed under the yellow police tape. He looked at Deputy Hunter, as he stuffed his notebook back into his pocket with a sigh, muttering, “Women!” Then to Todd he said, “Let’s go get her before she makes the Sheriff angry. He’s already wound up tight.”

Someone from the observant crowd shouted shrilly, “Sheriff, look out. The witch’s daughter is sneaking up on you. She’ll hex you and your deputies. Don’t look in her eyes. Someone grab her.” The crowded ebbed forward like the unrelenting tide of a destruction bent hurricane. They had been waiting for an opportunity to break the monopoly of watching from the sidelines.

Sheriff Eckle recognized hysteria when he saw it. His deputies struggled to keep the group back, as one lady grabbed the Lambert girl’s arm, causing her to cry out in pain. Her boyfriend and Hunter were trying to keep her from being torn apart by the mob. In a voice that some would later say was reminiscent of Sheriff Brown, Eckle shouted, “That’s enough. Everyone not directly involved with this investigation is to go about your business now, or my deputies will arrest you for obstruction. Deputy Hunter, get the riot gear ready.”

The last directive proved unnecessary, disappointing the deputy once again, as the disgruntled crowd dispersed.

(WC= 5,006)

Chapter 7

Not many people cared for Roman Ouellette because he was a ribald cantankerous middle-aged man, who ran the town’s sanitation department. The ongoing theory about his quirky personality was that he spent most his time cleaning up everyone’s crap that it had rubbed off on him, producing a difficult man who didn’t put up with anyone’s crap.

What pissed him off today was the crowd in front of the McHenry house—they were making a mess in the street with their cigarette butts, empty soda bottles and other debris that was carelessly tossed aside. No one thought of who kept the streets clean or who picked up their garbage. He was a misunderstood and under appreciated man. If only the town realized how much of their garbage was now his treasures, they might fear him just a tad. Who thinks about what they’re tossing into their garbage cans? He found many interesting items, such as receipts to motel rooms where a dalliance with a neighbor’s wife can cost up to $40 for a few hours, empty liquor bottles that discredit the chairperson of the local MADD chapter and his favorite, discarded poetic attempts from the high school principal to a sweet little thing that works at Bucko’s diner. Yes, Roman Ouellette with his balding hair and permanent sneer knew plenty about the sleepy town.

It was no surprise to him to hear that there had been some witchy hoodooing in the abandoned McHenry house. If anyone used their brains, they would find that the front door to the place pointed straight at the perpetrators, the hippy woman and her snotty know-it-all daughter who lived across the street.

Roman was in the heart of a heated battle with the daughter when the sheriff interrupted. “What’s going on here, Roman?”

“Ask the witch’s daughter, Sheriff. She knows what went on in the McHenry house.” Roman spat on the ground close to where Cinnamon stood, adding his touch to the littered area.

“I’m not a witch’s daughter. If you continue to slander my mother and me, we will see an attorney, Mr. Ouellette.” Cinnamon ignored the sheriff. She had heard stories of his inept bumbling of local crimes. From what she had heard, he was nowhere near the investigator that Sheriff Brown had been “That’s enough. Both of you.” Sheriff Eckle gave both parties a hard look. “What makes you think that…what’s your name, honey?”

“Cinnamon Lambert. There’s no honey attached to it.” Next to people who didn’t use dictionaries, she hated people who used endearments loosely.

The Sheriff groaned inwardly. He disliked frigid women. This girl gave off more ice than his last ex-wife. He doubted the girl had anything to do with witchcraft. If she did he had the feeling he have been turned into a toad after calling her honey. “What makes you think that Miss Lambert is a witch’s daughter, Roman?”

“I see what goes on at their house. Her mother dances in the back yard at night. They always have strange smells coming from their house.” His face was tomato red as he worked himself up, littering the air with his loathing.

“Now Roman. That’s all hearsay. You can’t pin a label on the house without proper proof. I don’t want to hear you say that this young lady or her mother is a witch. It stops right here.”

“ I’m just a concerned citizen, expressing my opinion. There is such a thing as free speech. Why if Sheriff Br…”

“Roman, that’s enough. You heard the Sheriff.” Deputy Hunter had stood by quietly, watching the uneasy crowd. All it took was someone as irrational as Roman Ouellette to make a suggestion into an issue. They had enough on their hands right now trying to figure out what the hell went on in that house. Roman walked back to his garbage truck, tossing a scoff at Cinnamon over his shoulder. He would get that bitch one day.

(WC= 4,418)

Chapter 6

Sheriff Eckle had one of his deputies take photos of their discovery inside the McHenry house, while he awaited the arrival of the crime scene lab. The house was barren with no furniture. The walls were naked and lonely with faint outlines of phantom pictures, reminding the Sheriff that someone once called the house home. But one room held a mystery that Sheriff Eckle hoped to solve before rumors ran him out of office.

“Sheriff, it looks like blood on the inside of this circle.” Deputy Hunter knelt beside a poorly drawn black circle with a star in the middle of it. With a shaky finger he pointed at a suspicious red splatter.

“We’ll know when the lab gets here. Get O’Reilly to take some photos of it.” The Sheriff walked over to the bench that was positioned right under the window. On it were a hodgepodge of items; an incense burner that held ashy remains of what he assumed was an incense stick, a bowl of water and one holding a crystalline substance and candles burnt down to nubs. The bench was covered with a purple scarf that had signs drawn on it by an inexperienced hand with no artistic talents. He hated to admit it, but he was beginning to think the room held some sort of witchcraft rite. What had him the most curious about the whole scene was the bowl of herbs matted with something sticky. The herbs smelled like the rag doll that was found outside. He wished he had paid more attention to Granny Eckle’s kitchen lectures when he was a child. She grew her own herbs, something that wasn’t passed down to his generation.

Deputy Hunter interrupted his musing. “Sheriff, there’s something weird about this setup. It’s almost childish, amateurish even. I’ve seen movies about witchcraft,” he pointed to the drawing on the floor, “and this doesn’t look like a scene from one of them.” He stood with his hand on his pistol, a habit he had when he wasn’t sure what action to take in a situation. “I wonder if some of the wild crowd at the high school might have been here playing around. You know, smoking dope and getting laid. Teens today are different than we were growing up. Hell, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty-five.”

Sheriff Eckle laughed, “Hunter, aren’t you still twenty-five?” He didn’t wait for the blushing deputy to answer. “Good point about the teens. Here’s a thought. Why don’t you go out and see if there are any teenagers lurking in the crowd. You’re younger than the rest of the deputies and probably know them better than most people do. Question them discreetly. Make it seem as if you think it’s all a joke. Maybe they’ll relay some information to you about what’s gone on here.”

“Yep, it could be harmless teenage shenanigans. I’m hoping it is, Sheriff. Even if kids are the culprit, this scene gives me the willies.”

“For Heaven’s to Pete, don’t let on that you’re affected by this. That crowd outside will smell it on you and we don’t need a petrified public to pamper.”

A frantic deputy came running into the room. In his haste, he bumped into O’Reilly as he was focusing his camera on an object on the altar.

“Watch it, Ward!” O’Reilly hated working while the bumbling deputies with their heads in their asses milled around. They always got in his way. Didn’t anyone have any idea how much concentration a good photographer needed?

“Sorry, O’Reilly. Didn’t see you there.” The deputy didn’t sound sincere, because he had something else on his mind. “Sheriff, Roman Ouellette’s in the crowd arguing with the witch’s daughter. The crowd’s getting a bit riled up. Can we get out the riot gear?” He was hopeful, because none of them had ever used it and they had gotten the equipment back in the fall.

“Witch’s daughter? There’s a witch in town?”

“Yes, Mel over at the barber shop said he got a love potion from her. She bought Ernest’s house last year, after he moved up north. Remember how Roman Ouellette complained in the town meeting last month about that fountain in her front yard? The one of the woman with the boobs exposed?”

The Sheriff interrupted Deputy Ward’s hearsay. But he did make a mental note to hang out at the barber shop more often. “Come on, boys. Let’s go see what all the excitement’s about.”

“But Sheriff, what about the riot gear?”

“No need for it Deputy. Besides, you don’t know how to use it.”

“But Sheriff Brown would have…”

“Deputy Ward, do I look like Sheriff Brown?”

(WC=3759)

Chapter 5

Todd thought Cinnamon Curl Lambert was the most inimitable girl he had ever known. He’ll never forget the first day she walked into his history class. Her blonde hair shimmered a pale yellow gold, mesmerizing most of the boys in the class. But what got his attention was the gleam in her jade eyes, as if she knew a secret that was hers alone. He found himself longing to talk to her—to hear her voice and maybe somehow enter her thoughts, to find the secrets there.

But the task of getting to know her was more difficult than he anticipated. She shot down all the guys who asked her out with a blast of cold air from her eyes. After a few days it became obvious that she wasn’t the average giggly teenage girl. Cinnamon had an air of maturity at seventeen that many of the adults in town didn’t possess. But Todd wasn’t one to give up; his tenacity eventually won her over. As the school’s athletic star, he had to demonstrate to her that he possessed a brain to go along with his brawn. He was a whiz at history, a subject Cinnamon loved herself. When they were assigned to work on the same team in a debate about the pros of the Lewis-Clark Expedition, they became friends.

Now if only he could get up the nerve to take the friendship a step further! For the last few weeks he had been trying to gather his nerve up and ask her out. He fantasized about ways to ask her out—sending flowers or candy, writing a poem or even leaving a letter on the windshield of her car. But he feared that she would reject his overtures and their friendship would be maimed. He asked his mom for advice, giving her a brief description of Cinnamon. When he mentioned how she smelled of gardenias, his mom smiled and reassured him that she was more approachable than he realized or she wouldn’t be wearing perfume.

When Todd saw the crowd gathered at the McHenry house, he stopped to see if things were okay. His first concern was that it somehow involved Cinnamon or her mom, because their house was directly across from it. He was surprised at the rumors milling around. A warning bell went off in his brain. There was something vaguely familiar about the whole business with the voodoo rituals. But before the thought could take root, something cold brushed against his arm, sending his goose bumps into a tailspin. He turned to look but saw only shadows withdrawing into the streets, as the sun shifted slightly overhead.

With a skipping heart, he watched Cinnamon arrive and suddenly the cold blast was forgotten as he felt a warmth race over him. The contrast in their coloring never failed to amaze him. She was ivory and blonde, while he was olive-skinned with deep black hair. His eyes were shades of sienna and red mingled with black. But they were warm friendly eyes. At the moment that warmth was reserved for Cinnamon, as they bantered.

The moment was interrupted when Roman Ouellette called Cinnamon the witch’s daughter. Todd tensed, ready to defend her but he stayed quiet. One thing he knew about Cinnamon was that she preferred to fight her own battles. He had met her mother once when he went over to their house to study with Cinnamon. She didn’t look old enough to be Cinnamon’s mother and most certainly didn’t look like a witch. If he had to tag her with a label, he would say she was a hippy, a happy one with a schoolgirl giggle.

No one listened to Cinnamon as she tried to explain what an astrologist did. Roman Ouellette’s voice was louder than hers, insisting he had seen rites of witchcraft when he walked his dog at night. In the midst of the accusations about Cinnamon’s mother and witchcraft, Sheriff Eckle appeared.

Word Count= 2977

Chapter 4

Cinnamon Curl Lambert hated her name. In fact she hated her life. She hated the small town that she was forced to live in. She hated the school and the silly antics of the students, none of them anxious to improve their minds. But mostly, she hated the way every little thing that anyone did brought out the nosiness of the township. Traffic was backed up down her street, something that had never happened before in the year that she’s lived there. Gawkers were out in droves.

Cinnamon tapped her fingers on the steering wheel of her old Plymouth, mentally readjusting her schedule so that she could still achieve her goals for the evening. Upon meeting her, many people assumed that she was a stereotypical blonde. But once she spoke it was obvious that she was a well-educated young lady with a superior brain. Her stubbornness and impatience with people whom she thought were inferior made her a force that few wanted to tangle. Her teachers at the high school basically let her move along her courses at her own speed. Principle Coleman dreaded seeing her tapping on his door, because he had a hard time understanding the root of her complaint of the day.

Her usual ten-minute drive turned into one of thirty minutes, testing the endurance of her patience. When she turned into her driveway, she was surprised to see that the carnival sideshow was at the vacant house across the street. As Principal Coleman would say, that house was quieter than a church mouse. The police lights beckoned her. Proud of her will power, she climbed the steps to her house, thinking how she could master her curiosity better than any of the church mice on the lawn across the street. But a voice called her name than had the power to wipe away the smugness she felt.

“Cinnamon. Come here.” It was Todd Roberts, the star athletic at her high school. She couldn’t understand why he was so attracted to her. They didn’t have much in common except for history, a subject they spent hours discussing when opportunity arose. Naturally, she failed to realize that she possessed a grace and self-assurance that made many male admirers want to inhale.

She placed her backpack full of books on her steps and lightly cantered across the street, her long blonde mane flying behind her. Todd took her arm in his hand, smiling at her. “I see you finally made it home. I was here in ten minutes. Thanks to my scooter.”

“Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll get a metal later for that amazing feat.” She spoke haughtily but her green eyes smiled at him. “What’s the attraction?”

“I don’t know all the details. They found a body under the steps and the remains of some sort of voodoo ritual inside. Lots of blood and guts everywhere.”

“Voodoo ritual? Come on Todd. The closest this town gets to dark magic is trick or treating at Halloween.”

He laughed, but someone in the crowd shouting out cut his reply off short. “Hey it’s that witch’s daughter. Maybe she knows what happened here.” Even though she knew she was wasting her breath and that the learning curve of town’s tolerance was mildly retarded, through clinched teeth Cinnamon said, “For the one-hundredth time, my mother is an astrologer, not a witch.”

(Current WC=2315)

Chapter 3

Small town crowds are no different than the ones in large cities when it comes to curiosity, except that smaller towns seem to have more of a concerted interest. It could be because they know the dirty secrets of almost everyone who lives there. Every person who stood in the crowd outside the McHenry house had more than the average case of curiosity and their own secrets. The elders in the crowd felt a sense of familiarity grip their hearts. Was this the possible repeating of a past that should have been erased from everyone’s memory?

The bad seed watched silently as people theorized what had gone on in the house, who the dead body was and why Mrs. Denton found it under the front porch. None of the theories were correct, but that didn’t matter. Soon rumors would take the town apart and that would be a pleasure to watch. The bad seed never could abide lukewarm attitudes. It is much better to be bitter cold about an issue or burn up with fervor over it than to be indifferent.

The intensity of the snooping crowd grew when the crime lab van pulled up about fifty minutes after Sheriff Eckle ordered their services; usually the drive took over an hour. Deputies had a hard time keeping people from stepping under the yellow tape, trying to get a better view of the activities. Angry accusing voices took over the crowd, demanding to know what was going on, taunting the Sheriff and the deputies. The subliminal contempt of the bad seed had penetrated the consciousness of the crowd, until August Carson reminded everyone that they should show the current Sheriff and his deputies the same respect that they had for Sheriff Brown, because he felt the new Sheriff knew what he was doing.

An embarrassed silence fell over the crowd. August was right and many hated to admit it. But seeing the crime lab at work brought out fear and speculation that none knew how to deal with. A shadow had crossed their minds, one that generated a darkness none of them knew how to dispel.

The bad seed observed Sheriff Eckle as he worked with the scene, making mental notes—absorbing both positive and negative attributes of the Sheriff’s style. With this case, the Sheriff had the opportunity to erase the name of his predecessor from the town’s mind, but only if he was able to erase the first taste of fear the town had in fifty years. The process wouldn’t be easy, because the bad seed would make sure of that.

The darkness hanging over the crowd lightened as it blended into the shadows. There were other actions to set into motion now that the first step had been taken. Sheriff Eckle’s voice was the loudest of the investigating crowd; eventually it would be the quietest. A dark door had been opened and all the sunshine of May couldn’t close it. Every soul would be touched by its malevolence.

(current WC = 1755)

Chapter 2

Sheriff Eric Eckle sped down the road with sirens full blast. He was pissed that his late lunch was interrupted. It had been a day of bump-ups, break-ins and people complaining about boys on skateboards. The town was restless due to spring fever now that winter was gone. He had spent most of the morning over at the hardware store. Someone had kicked in the back door and stolen kerosene lamps, a bundle of rope, some spray paint and a few other odds and ends. The owner, August Carson wasn’t too happy to lose the lamps. They were one of his best sellers during the spring and summer. People loved to camp in the woods close to the lake.

The town had elected him sheriff a few years ago, when Sheriff Brown had decided to retire after fifty years of service. He had been very popular, known for his stern personality as a man to keep on the good side of. Every day that Sheriff Eckle spent on the job, he felt the weight of his predecessor’s reputation. It wasn’t an easy one to bear, especially in times like this. If he ever started a game show it would be called “What would Sheriff Brown do in this situation.”

When he arrived at 66 6th Street, he pulled into the drive, stopping inches short of the yellow crime scene tape. The old McHenry house had been vacant for most of the time for the last five years. No one lived in it for long, complaining of odd sounds in the night. When he was a deputy, he had spent many nights investigating noises at the house.

He surveyed the scene, noting that Mrs. Denton was sitting in the back of Deputy Smith’s cruiser. He was patiently taking her statement. From the flailing of her arms, Sheriff Eckle could tell it was theatrical. A small group of deputies and paramedics stood by the front of the house, looking down at something. As he ducked under the yellow tape, he heard another deputy telling the curious crowd to dispense.

“Well boys, what have we got?” He broke through the circle and bent down beside one of the paramedics, who was examining the body Mrs. Denton discovered.

“It’s a life size rag doll, Sheriff. It smells funny. As if it’s got some sort of herbs sewn into it. The red streaks on the pants look like dried wax.” He scraped at a small section and it crumbled off in waxy pecks.

“I bet this is a prank. Teens having fun with old lady Denton. They know she walks down this street every day. If she ignored them, they wouldn’t tease her.” Sheriff Eckle stood up. To one of the deputies he said, “Take it down to the crime lab. See what they can find out about it. Maybe they can figure out who made it.”

Someone shouted from the left side of the house, “Hey Sheriff, come look at this?” Deputy Hunter, one of the Sheriff’s favorites was standing at a window towards the back of the house. The window was opened about five inches, giving them a limited view of the floor below. Under the window were candles that had burnt down to the quick covering a bench. A familiar herbal smell radiated from the room. It was the same one the rag doll had. Partly visible on the floor was a portion of some design spray painted in black.

Sheriff Eckle didn’t wait for someone to remind him what the former Sheriff Brown would do. He barked out gruffly to the closest deputy. “Get the crime lab over here and for God’s sake don’t touch anything unless you have gloves on.”

(total word count 1253)

Chapter 1


If a race was held between old lady Denton and a snail, it would be safe to predict that the snail would win. At 84, one had to commend her on her tenacity. She went for a two-block walk daily in rain or shine. Bred from old money and blue blood, Mrs. Denton believed that will was stronger than the body.

The second day of May greeted her with sunshine. She treaded carefully over the white petals from the cherry trees that covered the sidewalk. She shunned the aluminum cane that her doctor tried to push on her, once arthritis kidnapped her joints. Instead she leaned heavily on the antique walking cane that once belonged to her poppy. It was a handsome stick with a coiled copper collar, Malacca shaft and a brass ferrule. The handle was shaped Ivory with three dog heads finely carved into it. When she walked it made a small tap that echoed down the street. It was reminiscent of her music teaching days, when she would tap a ruler on the piano in time with her students as they practiced their chords.

She usually walked in the mornings, before most of the town arose. But not today, she had company over for breakfast. Her late husband’s nephew Roger came by weekly to make sure she was well. The riches she possessed were hers alone, though he was under the impression he would gain them. Mrs. Denton was no fool; to ensure that he continued to be at her beck and call, she let him believe that he was going to become a rich man once she passed on. Only she and her attorney knew that she had willed most of her money into a musical scholarship program in her name for college bound students.

School was out for the day and the streets were brimming with students excited by the warmth of spring in the air. Mrs. Denton hurried down the street, hoping to avoid the rough riders—a disrespectable trio of teen-aged boys who loved to taunt her. They called her “Blue-Haired Turtle Woman” and “Slow-Poke Granny.” She hated them with a passion as strong as her love for music.

Today wasn’t her lucky day. She had reached a section of sidewalk that was covered in white petals shedding from the cherry trees that lined the street in front of the old McHenry house, now vacant. One of her fears was that she would fall and break a hip. The thought of being an invalid was the factor behind her caution. Concentrating on her steps, she didn’t hear the approach of rapid wheels moving along erratically down the pavement towards her.

“Watch out, Blue Hair,” shouted the first boy to whip by her on his skateboard. The other two shouted out incoherent words, causing old lady Denton to stumble and fall onto the lawn of the McHenry house. Speeding away, the boys didn’t look back. If one of the had, she would have fainted from disbelief because even though they were rambunctious teens they would have rushed to her side, apologizing and assisting her back onto her feet. But they didn’t. She lay there for a moment with the wind knocked out of her, afraid to move, fearing that she had broken something.

Shouts told her to stay still. She whispered thanks that someone was paying attention, because she had no idea how she was going to get back on her feet unaided. As she waited for the rescuers to arrive, her eyes caught sight of something out from under the porch by the front steps of the house. It was a leg clad in denim with red streaking the fabric. When her rescuers arrived, she screamed pointing to it with her cane.

(Wordcount now-629)