in the house where she might have chosen to work. Auntie Mina might have been an herbalist and a Wiccan and slightly crazy, but she had also loved technology. There was cable television, and a wireless network. Auntie Mina had loved her little tablet that had let her watch her shows in any room.
After giving it some thought, Devin had chosen the parlor as her office. She loved the old mantel and the way the fire burned when the nights turned chill. She liked to look out at the stone path that led to the house and the gardens—now in need of work—that grew on either side of it.
Last night, though... She hoped never to go through anything like that again. She had discovered a murder victim.
A sight she would never get out of her mind.
But she wasn’t a cop. She wasn’t even a reporter anymore.
She made her living writing children’s books, and she needed to get back to Auntie Pim and the Belligerent Gnome.
She started to work. The gnome was angry with one of the dwarfs who lived in the woods and wanted a potion from Auntie Pim to make the dwarf grow a giant nose. He begged at first and pleaded—but Auntie Pim told him that magic must never be used to hurt people. The gnome threatened her next, telling Auntie Pim that he would send a plague of locusts to eat all the herbs in her garden and then she wouldn’t be able to do anything. So Auntie Pim told the gnome that she would make a potion that could cause a nose to grow. But she warned the gnome that any harm he caused would come back at him threefold.
Devin had read her initial draft to children at the library, and they had actually been on pins and needles—horrified that Auntie Pim would use her magic for evil. But Devin had assured them that they shouldn’t be afraid, because Auntie Pim always had a plan. What would happen, of course, was that the dwarf’s nose would grow by a fraction of a fraction of an inch, while the angry gnome’s nose would blossom out like a double-size volleyball. At the end, of course, the gnome, having learned his lesson, would beg for forgiveness. And after Auntie Pim returned his nose to a normal size, he would help her in her garden.
Devin looked out at the garden, wishing that she had a belligerent gnome to help her now. She’d intended to get outside today, but that didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.
Her phone rang, and she jumped.
It was Beth, who skipped right past hello and said, “You’ve been holding out on me!”
“What?”
“Rocky Rockwell. Wow. You sure can keep a secret. I can’t believe you’ve had that man in your pocket all this time and haven’t said a word. Now I know why you don’t want me fixing you up with anyone. He looks like he walked off the cover of GQ. I have to admit, I couldn’t have found you someone like him anywhere around here.”
Why the hell hadn’t she introduced him as an FBI agent, here to investigate the recent murders? She massaged her temples with her thumb and forefingers.
The last “GQ” man she’d dated had worked with her at the paper. He’d been stunned—shocked—but not emotionally devastated when she’d broken it off with him. He’d scooped her story, and people who cared about other people didn’t do that. In his mind, it had been his right. She was just a woman, while he was a serious reporter.
But this man...
Yes. He was a sharp dresser, tall and well built and...okay, gorgeous. Neatly clipped auburn hair, searing green eyes. Of course, it was easy for Beth to think...
“We’re friends,” Devin said.
“With benefits?” Beth teased.
“Friends,” Devin repeated firmly.
“Well, if you’re not interested in the benefits part, bring that boy back around!”
“Oh, Beth...”
“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t call to tease you. Okay, yes, I partly did. But I really called because I wish you’d come stay with me. I just had lunch over at Rockafella’s—I love their food—but they had the televisions on, and there was a police spokesman telling young women to be careful, not to go out alone. You really should think about staying with me. Please?”
“I will, Beth. I promise I’ll think about it.”
“Okay. Hey, the new Brad Pitt is playing at the mall. A few of us are going tomorrow night. Why don’t you join us? Bring tall, auburn and handsome if you want. I promise—no more teasing. And I won’t drool on him or anything.”
“Let me call you?”
“Sure.”
Devin hung up and went into the kitchen. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, and Beth’s mention of lunch made her hungry.
She had just pulled out the bread and sandwich meat and was standing by the refrigerator, a bottle of mayonnaise in her hand, when she had the uneasy feeling that she was being watched.
She looked toward the kitchen doorway.
Her heart seemed to stand still.
There was Auntie Mina. She was wearing one of her pretty black dresses that came just below her knees; her white hair was swept into a bun, and her spectacles were in place. Her cheeks were rosy; her lips were pursed into a smile.
Devin blinked. Aunt Mina didn’t go away.
Instead, she spoke.
“Yes, I’m here, child. Now please put that mayonnaise down before you drop it.”
The drive to Boston wasn’t a long one, but Rocky, sitting in the passenger seat beside Jack Grail, found that he resented the time the trip would take. Still, when Jack had called him over lunch, he knew it only made sense to go.
He didn’t like being away from the active investigation, because this case was a confounding one. The murderer had struck once and stopped, and then again almost thirteen years later, when he had struck twice in two weeks.
Either that, or they had a copycat on their hands.
But how could a copycat mimic Melissa’s murder so precisely, when many of the details had never been made public?
Now he and Jack stood in a sterile room that smelled of antiseptic and death, and listened to the report being given by Dr. Samuels. Dr. Samuels hadn’t performed the autopsy on Carly Henderson; that had been Dr. Smith, who was currently on vacation. His report was in Carly’s file, and she had been buried in Salem just three days ago.
Their Jane Doe lay on the table. If she weren’t such a strange color and didn’t feel like ice—and didn’t have the Y incision that was the most obvious sign of autopsy—she might have been any young woman catching a few rays. Dr. Samuels droned through the necessary information. Female, between the ages of seventeen and twenty-three, five feet six inches, one hundred and fifteen pounds. There were no signs of rape or sexual molestation; she hadn’t even been sexually active in the days before her death. She had no tattoos or identifying scars, and she had nearly perfect teeth.
In fact, other than the slice across the throat—performed, according to Dr. Samuels, by a double-edged blade of about six or seven inches and made from left to right—she had been unharmed. No one had beat her, strangled her, dragged her or done anything else to her. Her stomach contents were being tested. However, Dr. Samuels had read the report on Carly Henderson and believed that the two women had consumed identical meals—clam chowder and fish and chips—before they had met their demise. If that turned out to be true, Rocky thought, it could be a clue as valuable as the pentagram medallions.
“So,” Rocky said, moving to use Jack as his mock victim, “the killer came up directly behind her, placed the weapon so—and slashed?”
“Yes, that appears to be what happened,” Samuels agreed.
“The