The witching hours, p.10
The Witching Hours, page 10
“We’ll be in touch,” Zach promised the girls. “And we will talk to the professor.”
“He wouldn’t just admit he was a kidnapper, right?” Holly asked.
“It’s most unlikely that anyone would do so. We have our ways of talking,” Zach said to her. “And again, of course, if he isn’t guilty of anything other than being a dramatic professor obsessed by the history of the region, he may lead us onward. Anyway, we thank you all!”
“No, no,” Holly said. “We thank you.”
With smiles, Skye and Zach made their exit.
In the car, Skye turned to Zach. “Well?”
“Honestly? I have a bad time thinking that a professor who has kept his job can be in on this, but the whole thing is so absurd, who knows? We do need to talk to him. And hopefully, he’ll be somewhere—”
“Wait! You have the brush.”
“I’m driving!”
“I can drive.”
“Of course, you can, I know. But I’d like a minute to sit with it. Concentrate. My talent doesn’t always just jump forward the way yours does. And I know about the darkness through Jeremy’s little toy, but I may get a view on things through Patricia’s older mind.”
“Okay. Then I’ll call Lieutenant Bruns; he seems ready to help at any turn. He can set up a meeting for us with the professor,” Skye said, looking at her phone. “Ah! A message from Detective Cason. One of the rangers found a little green army man in the forest, too. Halfway between the shack and a rough road that’s near the coast.” She frowned and looked at him worriedly. “Do you think that they might have spirited away these women and children in a boat?”
He shook his head. “Absurd. That’s the true situation. But because it’s so absurd, I think it all has to do with this area. And that’s just thinking. I could be entirely wrong.”
She smiled and called Gavin Bruns. The detective immediately put a call through for them and was back on the line with Skye in just a few minutes. She put him on speaker so that Zach could hear what he was telling them.
“Well, I’m thinking that this will work out for you well. I hope so at any rate. Professor Isaac Stanley is heading out to dinner. He’s happy to help you in any way, but hopes that you’ll join him at the Village Tavern. It’s a great restaurant, so you can have something good to eat while you’re getting to know and question the man.”
“Sounds great, thank you, Lieutenant Bruns,” Zach told him. “Thank you so much.”
“If anyone is going to solve this thing, it’s you,” Bruns told him.
“Hey, like Hillary Clinton’s book said, ‘It takes a village,’” Zach said.
“Keep me up on anything,” Bruns told them. Skye could almost see the man hesitate, before he told them, “Cason and Berkley have been assigned the fieldwork; I’m actually the detective in charge of a few cases going on. But frankly, I’d rather be on the ground with this one and working with you two.”
“Sir, you’ve been great. The connections you make for us are extremely helpful,” Zach assured him.
“Well, thanks. The restaurant is right on Essex Street. And it’s one of my favorites,” Bruns told them.
Zach smiled, glancing at Skye as he drove. “I’ve been there, sir, and I’ve got to agree.”
They ended the call with the two of them promising to let Bruns know whatever they discovered.
Skye was thoughtful as she hung up.
“You don’t want to go to the restaurant?” he asked. “Well, I guess late lunch and early dinner beat the days when we don’t eat at all.”
“Hasn’t really happened yet,” she reminded him.
“Not in your career?” he asked, grinning as he looked ahead. “Ah, but then you don’t seem to feel the need to fuel up all that often.”
Skye shrugged. “Often enough. You’re bright enough to stop when we can, but I’ve seen you involved in what we’re doing—and not thinking about food at all.”
“Well, I’m sorry I made you eat fast food. This place is good!”
“I know.”
“Of course. You’ve been in Salem often enough before.”
She nodded, looking downward and smiling. He was proving to be okay, after all. He had a great look for an agent; his height, shoulders, and even the character of his facial structure allowed for his appearance to instill confidence in those needing help—and wariness for those causing the need.
In truth, of course …
He just had a great masculine and arresting look. He was a striking man, but she was discovering much more: his sense of humor, and a great sense of justice. He was also capable of offering tremendous empathy. In fact, she might be discovering that she liked him a bit too much, which annoyed her to no end—they had just met!
“Okay, going to park about a block off Essex Street,” he narrated, sliding into a spot. “Down-to-earth, reasonable—”
“And they have great appetizers and salads, among other things,” Skye told him. “Yeah. We should eat now while we’ve got the chance.”
“You know, there are people—even law enforcement—who call it quits after so many hours and go home, have dinner, and go to sleep.”
“I have a feeling you’ve never been one of those people,” Skye said, shrugging as they walked to the restaurant. “The nature of the beast. But it’s been my experience that when we get a break—we get a break!”
“That’s true. And there’s the restaurant … and there. A table near the window, a man who appears to be in his late fifties, white hair, mustache, and goatee—he’s at a table for four and it appears that he’s looking for someone.”
Skye laughed softly.
“What?”
“He looks exactly like the stereotypical professor!” Skye said.
Zach smiled. “I guess he does.”
They headed into the restaurant. Apparently, they looked like Feds, too, because the professor rose as he saw them, ready to greet them.
“Lieutenant Bruns gave me a call. I didn’t get a chance for lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind joining me for dinner.”
“Ah, professors don’t always get to eat, either,” Zach said, glancing at Skye before shaking the man’s hand and introducing himself, showing his credentials and turning to her to do the same.
“Thanks, Professor, seriously, and oh! This dinner gets to be on law enforcement’s dime!” she told him.
“We’ve both been here before and love the place, too,” Zach told the man.
“Ah, great! Well, I can make a few suggestions,” Professor Stanley told them.
“Thanks! I’ve had their salads and I’ll be going in that direction,” Skye answered him, smiling.
“I guess I will, too,” Zach said, making a face. “Bad fast food for lunch—and a late lunch.”
“Ah, there’s our waiter! We’ll order and you can start asking me anything, and I’ll do my best to help in any way.”
They didn’t get to ask their questions right away after their waiter left their table; Professor Stanley broke into a bit of a tirade.
“Not that it’s not incredibly important history,” he told them, “but the only history anyone ever seems to get into here is that about the witchcraft trials! Not far from here, they’ve found proof that the first indigenous peoples, ancestors of our current Native Americans, were here as early as nine thousand to twelve thousand years ago. In 1614, John Smith first surveyed the coast; in 1626, Roger Conant arrived here to start up the colony. The first burial in the Old Burying Point, or Charter Street Cemetery, was in 1637. Those are just dates. Important things happened here. In 1636, just the year before, militia drilled on what is now the Salem Common, beginning what we now refer to as the National Guard. War of 1812, all kinds of seafarers—some privateers among them, of course. Yes, yes, 1692, the Salem Witch Trials began, but the first supposed witch hanged in the Colonies was Alse Young, in Connecticut. But I’m guessing you two know that. What you may not know is that in Salem in the 1840s, the area began desegregating schools. In 1854, they passed a law ‘prohibiting all distinctions of color and religion in Massachusetts public school admissions.’ Admirable things happened here, too, but … well, I guess tourism thrives on ghosts and what was once evil. Nowadays the only so-called witches we have around belong to our wiccan community, and those people—”
“Would do no evil, lest it come back at them three times,” Skye said, interrupting politely.
“And there you have it!” Professor Stanley said. “Just like—”
“True voodoo, demonized by Papa Doc and Hollywood,” Zach offered.
Professor Stanley nodded, and they all gave their attention to their waiter as he arrived with their drinks—a scotch for the professor and coffee for Skye and Zach.
“Ah, on duty still, eh?” the professor asked.
“Yeah, pretty much so on duty unless we’re sleeping,” Zach said. “But we get time in there in between assignments. Sir, what we’ve been told is that you are a beloved instructor—kids like it that you give emotion with your lectures.”
The professor laughed. “Ah, yes! I tell them stories about the deep, dark woods; what it was like to fear and to not understand the indigenous people—a people who knew the woods and the darkness. Today college-aged students just think that everyone in the village at the time had to be stupid. Which is odd, seeing how kids—and some adults—automatically believe anything they read on the Internet, but … anyway, yes, I get a little dramatic. I describe the darkness, the wind rustling through brush and trees … I try to explain that Puritans were devout and, yes, unaccepting of others, and that in their religion, any possibility of magic, demons, or Satan himself was something terrifying, and that those who might have been influenced by him needed to be executed.”
“But you don’t believe the devil is running around in the woods yourself, do you?” Skye asked him, frowning.
He shook his head, letting out a soft laugh. “No, I do not. Of course, I go on to explain how those who weren’t really malicious in any way might inadvertently be guided by other things—fear of a person, even resentment against them for anything they saw as a hurt, or who knows? Some say that they might have been influenced by greed as well—that it might have been a land grab. The average person might have just gotten swallowed up in it. Or perhaps the average person was afraid of protesting, since they might be accused as well.”
“There’s a strong possibility that many were afraid to protest,” Zach agreed. “Sir, of course, you know about what’s been going on.”
“Yes, of course, and it’s horrible. The news, naturally, blasted all the information. Nationwide. And there have been unverified reports that police suspect someone dressing up as a witch, but not the human-form witches of the past, rather a movie or Halloween version of a witch.”
Zach nodded. “We think it’s possible. But as for the very idea of a witch—”
“I am a professor. I teach facts. Not characters made up in a book, no matter how wonderful a book might be.”
Their entrees arrived and they all thanked the waiter. When he was gone, Skye leaned forward slightly and said, “Professor, we were hoping that you might know about someone who has followed the history too closely, perhaps someone who understood too clearly the Puritan version of the devil. Someone who …”
“You mean, do I know about anyone who could be doing any of this?” Professor Stanley asked.
“Frankly, yes,” Zach said.
The professor frowned thoughtfully. “Not offhand. I can go through my files—I’ve been teaching for years, you know. Many of my students are Salem residents, or they live nearby in Peabody, Lynn, Swampscott, Danvers … the area, you know. Of course, people come to the university here from all over, but … we do have a lot of locals or a lot of students from Massachusetts. I thought that the wicked-witch thing was just a rumor or supposition, but … I will do everything in my power to help, I promise.”
Skye glanced at Zach. He gave her a barely perceptible nod.
The professor seemed to be the real deal. Of course, his students did love his theatrics.
Still …
He was a fine dinner companion. He talked about the seafaring history of the area; how Salem men had served in the wars; how the Massachusetts 54th Infantry Regiment had been the second formed by voluntary African Americans in 1863, after the Emancipation Proclamation, and how they had then been followed by a creation of about 150 such units across the country.
He was proud of Massachusetts, proud of Salem.
“There will always be a few bad eggs in society, in groups, in states … and during certain years. The witch hunts, we see today, were horrid. Across the globe, they were horrid and remain so in a few places. A few bad eggs—malcontents—can cause real harm, and that’s why it’s up to the rest of us to stand strong against them!”
By the time dinner was over, Skye realized she admired the man. A lot.
And she silently prayed that her faith in him would be proven to be the right thing.
Back in the car, she turned to Zach as they drove the short distance to their rental lodging.
“I am really starting to wish I were a mind reader!” she told him. “Thus far, Patricia’s roommates seem to be truly crushed and worried about her. Professor Stanley came off as sincere to me, just a man who is passionate about history. Mr. Howell couldn’t have been pretending his near hysteria—understandable—over his wife and child. But we’re not finding anything!”
“Not true. We know something,” Zach said. “There are at least two individuals involved, and they like to dress up while kidnapping people. We know they did whisk Patricia and Jeremy through the woods—but probably to a back road. We found a shack they weren’t using as any kind of a ‘stay there’ hideout—but they did use it in passing through. Skye, we never thought this was going to be easy. And we know the kids are alive. Now I have something of Patricia’s. We’ll get back to our place alone, and I’ll see what I can see through Patricia’s brush.”
“What did you think of Professor Stanley?”
“He appeared to be passionate about Salem, the State of Massachusetts, and history. I have a feeling his dramatics are to try to get his students to understand how some of the people may have been feeling back then—and how many wouldn’t have dared disagreed with the arrests of their neighbors because of their fear of being arrested. And let’s face it, people become part of their society.”
“It just seems hypocritical to me,” Skye said.
“What’s that?”
“Well, the Puritans wanted something different from the Church of England because they thought the ceremonies and other bits of practice were too similar to Catholicism. They wanted a religion that, in their minds, came straight from the Bible. Then many fled England for New England to keep from being persecuted because they were under fire from the Church and the Crown. Then they turn around and accuse people of witchcraft in their new colony?”
He turned and shrugged before grinning. “A group moved to Holland first in 1608, and then to Plymouth in 1620. The Puritans didn’t think of themselves as ‘separatists.’ But they were incredibly intolerant.”
“And they met up with the Native Americans,” Skye murmured.
“Well, the world is still wretchedly intolerant,” he reminded her. “But that’s why our Founding Fathers were so insistent on freedom of religion being in the Constitution. And to this day, many people are intolerant of others.”
“But they aren’t hanging them as witches,” Skye argued.
“Ah, but that’s because it’s not accepted in society—or under the law. We like to think we’ve made some progress in human relations!”
“Okay, good point. We’ve got a way to go on that, though. And we’re here.”
“We are,” Zach said.
Zach parked and grimaced at her as he stepped out of the car. They headed on in and he said, “I’m going to sit—”
“Wherever is best for you—I can close myself up in the bedroom if you need to be alone—”
“No, if you don’t mind, stay with me in the parlor. Oh, I may brew a cup of coffee first.”
“I’ll get the coffee going,” Skye volunteered.
He nodded to her, reaching in his jacket pocket to pull out Patricia’s brush.
He sat with it while she started making the coffee.
But he was watching her while he held the brush. Skye wasn’t sure how that helped him feel or see anything through the brush, but …
“You drink it—” she began.
“Black. Too many places we wind up have milk or cream that’s soured.”
“True. And sugar—”
“You know the saying. I’m too sweet already.”
“I might argue with that saying!” Skye teased.
That time, he didn’t answer her.
The second the coffee was brewed, she poured two cups and came out to join him, taking one of the armchairs that sat by the sofa, and setting the cups on the little table between them. He didn’t look at her. With his free hand, he reached for his coffee cup and took a long sip.
She didn’t speak; he was staring at the brush, thoughtful.
“Patricia is alive. She isn’t hurt, but she is scared. She’s by Jeremy; she’s terrified herself, but she’s doing her best to reassure Jeremy and …”
“And?” Skye prompted softly.
“She’s telling him just to do what the witches were telling them to do; to pretend to listen to everything that’s being said.”
“What’s being said?”
“I don’t know, because they aren’t being spoken to now. They’ve been sent to bed.”
“Where are they going to bed?”
“I can’t tell; it’s dark. It looks as if there are … mattresses on a floor.”
“But there is a floor.”
He nodded. “I think it’s inside. But there’s barely any light. There are others in the room.”
“Jane Howell and Sophie?”
He nodded. Then he suddenly set the brush down and looked at her.
“Jane and Sophie—and at least two other people.”
Almost as if on cue, their phones rang. It was Lieutenant Gavin Bruns.
