Waking the Witch
Page 53
He’d had a few false starts. I’d helped him research things on the side, as he tried to prove himself to the council, getting frustrated when he couldn’t find what he needed. But eventually he did prove himself. He’d never be his stepfather, staying on the sidelines lost in his books. But he’d set his mind to it and he’d done it, and I admired him for that.
Speaking of admiration ...
We’d been inside the commune for less than five minutes before every girl there had checked out the new arrival. Adam isn’t drop-dead gorgeous. He’s cute, though. Seriously cute. Short, wavy dark blond hair. Perpetual tan. Athletic build. He looks like someone a girl could talk to, who’d flirt and make her laugh and look her in the eye while he’s doing it. In other words, he looks like exactly the kind of guy he is, and girls love it.
As usual, Megan was giving us the runaround.
“Alastair is a very busy man,” Megan said. “You can’t just show up and demand to see him, or he probably won’t be around.”
“He isn’t,” Vee piped up from her vantage spot on the stairs. “She’s telling the truth. He went out an hour ago.”
The front door opened behind us. “But I’m back now.” Alastair greeted us with firm handshakes and a smile as warm as a July afternoon.
“They don’t have an appointment,” Megan said. “I asked her to make one.”
“That’s all right. I have some time for Ms. Levine and her associate.”
“Actually, I can handle the interview. Someone”—I nodded toward Adam—“has been trying to steal my cookies. I’m sure he can be talked into buying a box of his own.”
The girls swooped in. While Adam was surrounded, I slipped past to Alastair, who led me to his office. Megan followed. At the door, he motioned me inside, then murmured a few words to her. When he came in, she didn’t.
“Megan can be a bit ...” Alastair smiled, face creasing as he sat behind his desk. “Overprotective. If you need anything more from me after this, call my cell.” He handed me a card with the number. “Just don’t tell Megan.”
He winked and leaned back in his chair, and I got my first good look at him. From his picture, I knew he was a distinguished, handsome older man. But it wasn’t until I was sitting across the desk that I really understood why he had a houseful of girls lining up to share his bed.
Guys like Adam have charm. They know how to make a girl feel pretty and special. Alastair probably had that, too, at Adam’s age, but by forty-five, it had matured into that rarer variety every good cult leader needs. Charisma.
Two minutes with him and he was acting as if we were coconspirators, smiling in a way that said he already liked me and was looking forward to spending time with me. I bet that every person who entered Alastair’s world got that smile, and few realized he gave it to everyone. That was his gift.
“Don’t worry,” I said as I pocketed the card. “I won’t tell Megan. I don’t scare easy, but she does the trick.”
He laughed. “Yes, she is a very strong-willed young woman.”
“I was thinking more of the Santeria. They have some nasty curses.”
The smile froze, then twitched, as he tried to light it again. When it returned, the warmth was definitely more May than July. Early May, with a chance of frost.
“Taking an unguided tour of our property, Ms. Levine?” he said. “Trespassing is illegal. Break and enter even more so.”
“Huh. Really? Okay, then. Call Chief Bruyn and show him where you think I broke into. I’d love to see it. I figured it was just a rumor, but it seems not.”
His whole face froze now, dismay in his eyes.
“So Megan does practice Santeria.” I scribbled in my notebook. “Is she an iyalorisha or just a practitioner?”
“A practitioner,” he said slowly.
“Seems like an odd choice for someone like Megan, but maybe not. She’s here, so she obviously has some yearning for the spiritual. Santeria has a strong role for women, which she’d appreciate, but you should tell her that’s more true of the Americanized version. The true Santerian traditions coming from Cuba are definitely slanted toward the guys. If she wanted a more feminist version of voodoo, she would be better off with Candomblé.”
As he stared at me, his smooth veneer fell away, his gaze sliding to the door as if mentally willing Megan to barrel through and kick me out. A man with the charisma, but not the balls, to be a leader.
“Actually, I was the one who brought Megan to Santeria,” he said, picking his words carefully. “She came to a meeting with a friend of hers, a researcher. Megan and I went home together. And this”—he opened his hands, indicating the house—“was the result. The perfect blending of the spiritual and the commercial.”
Spiritual for him. Commercial for her. A fortuitous meeting all around. I doodled in my book as he explained. I already knew what attracted him to Santeria, and I wasn’t surprised to hear that despite what Vee said, Alastair was the true devotee, not Megan. As a religion, Santeria suited him. It was mystical and New Age, and slightly shocking. Exactly the image he wanted to project.
Megan would go along with it because Alastair was the Pied Piper who brought girls to her workhouse. It was in her best interests to not only keep him happy, but hold a blackmail-worthy secret over him. Ah, true love.
Time to change the subject. “I saw you gave DNA to the sheriff’s department?”
“Of course. If it eliminates me from the list of suspects, then that benefits everyone here. We have enough prejudice to combat without suspicions like that.”
“They took samples from the victims, too,” I said.
“Yes, I suppose they would, in order to eliminate them from any samples found at the scene.”
I nodded. “There wouldn’t be any need to compare them to the samples taken from the suspects.”
His shoulders tightened, then he forced himself to relax. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Ms. Levine. Did they finally find DNA at the scene of Claire’s murder? I hope so, if it helps them solve it. She was a lovely girl.”
“And Ginny? Was she a lovely girl, too?”
“I’m sure she was. Brandi, too. If they found DNA at the scene, then I’m glad of it, and I hope they’ve compared it to mine already, because I know it’s not a match.”
Speaking of admiration ...
We’d been inside the commune for less than five minutes before every girl there had checked out the new arrival. Adam isn’t drop-dead gorgeous. He’s cute, though. Seriously cute. Short, wavy dark blond hair. Perpetual tan. Athletic build. He looks like someone a girl could talk to, who’d flirt and make her laugh and look her in the eye while he’s doing it. In other words, he looks like exactly the kind of guy he is, and girls love it.
As usual, Megan was giving us the runaround.
“Alastair is a very busy man,” Megan said. “You can’t just show up and demand to see him, or he probably won’t be around.”
“He isn’t,” Vee piped up from her vantage spot on the stairs. “She’s telling the truth. He went out an hour ago.”
The front door opened behind us. “But I’m back now.” Alastair greeted us with firm handshakes and a smile as warm as a July afternoon.
“They don’t have an appointment,” Megan said. “I asked her to make one.”
“That’s all right. I have some time for Ms. Levine and her associate.”
“Actually, I can handle the interview. Someone”—I nodded toward Adam—“has been trying to steal my cookies. I’m sure he can be talked into buying a box of his own.”
The girls swooped in. While Adam was surrounded, I slipped past to Alastair, who led me to his office. Megan followed. At the door, he motioned me inside, then murmured a few words to her. When he came in, she didn’t.
“Megan can be a bit ...” Alastair smiled, face creasing as he sat behind his desk. “Overprotective. If you need anything more from me after this, call my cell.” He handed me a card with the number. “Just don’t tell Megan.”
He winked and leaned back in his chair, and I got my first good look at him. From his picture, I knew he was a distinguished, handsome older man. But it wasn’t until I was sitting across the desk that I really understood why he had a houseful of girls lining up to share his bed.
Guys like Adam have charm. They know how to make a girl feel pretty and special. Alastair probably had that, too, at Adam’s age, but by forty-five, it had matured into that rarer variety every good cult leader needs. Charisma.
Two minutes with him and he was acting as if we were coconspirators, smiling in a way that said he already liked me and was looking forward to spending time with me. I bet that every person who entered Alastair’s world got that smile, and few realized he gave it to everyone. That was his gift.
“Don’t worry,” I said as I pocketed the card. “I won’t tell Megan. I don’t scare easy, but she does the trick.”
He laughed. “Yes, she is a very strong-willed young woman.”
“I was thinking more of the Santeria. They have some nasty curses.”
The smile froze, then twitched, as he tried to light it again. When it returned, the warmth was definitely more May than July. Early May, with a chance of frost.
“Taking an unguided tour of our property, Ms. Levine?” he said. “Trespassing is illegal. Break and enter even more so.”
“Huh. Really? Okay, then. Call Chief Bruyn and show him where you think I broke into. I’d love to see it. I figured it was just a rumor, but it seems not.”
His whole face froze now, dismay in his eyes.
“So Megan does practice Santeria.” I scribbled in my notebook. “Is she an iyalorisha or just a practitioner?”
“A practitioner,” he said slowly.
“Seems like an odd choice for someone like Megan, but maybe not. She’s here, so she obviously has some yearning for the spiritual. Santeria has a strong role for women, which she’d appreciate, but you should tell her that’s more true of the Americanized version. The true Santerian traditions coming from Cuba are definitely slanted toward the guys. If she wanted a more feminist version of voodoo, she would be better off with Candomblé.”
As he stared at me, his smooth veneer fell away, his gaze sliding to the door as if mentally willing Megan to barrel through and kick me out. A man with the charisma, but not the balls, to be a leader.
“Actually, I was the one who brought Megan to Santeria,” he said, picking his words carefully. “She came to a meeting with a friend of hers, a researcher. Megan and I went home together. And this”—he opened his hands, indicating the house—“was the result. The perfect blending of the spiritual and the commercial.”
Spiritual for him. Commercial for her. A fortuitous meeting all around. I doodled in my book as he explained. I already knew what attracted him to Santeria, and I wasn’t surprised to hear that despite what Vee said, Alastair was the true devotee, not Megan. As a religion, Santeria suited him. It was mystical and New Age, and slightly shocking. Exactly the image he wanted to project.
Megan would go along with it because Alastair was the Pied Piper who brought girls to her workhouse. It was in her best interests to not only keep him happy, but hold a blackmail-worthy secret over him. Ah, true love.
Time to change the subject. “I saw you gave DNA to the sheriff’s department?”
“Of course. If it eliminates me from the list of suspects, then that benefits everyone here. We have enough prejudice to combat without suspicions like that.”
“They took samples from the victims, too,” I said.
“Yes, I suppose they would, in order to eliminate them from any samples found at the scene.”
I nodded. “There wouldn’t be any need to compare them to the samples taken from the suspects.”
His shoulders tightened, then he forced himself to relax. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Ms. Levine. Did they finally find DNA at the scene of Claire’s murder? I hope so, if it helps them solve it. She was a lovely girl.”
“And Ginny? Was she a lovely girl, too?”
“I’m sure she was. Brandi, too. If they found DNA at the scene, then I’m glad of it, and I hope they’ve compared it to mine already, because I know it’s not a match.”
