Mrs. Givens chuckled, shook her head. She had a glossy brown ponytail, the same color as her daughter’s. “I fix hair in my home, Agent Savich, and one of my clients’ daughters saw her do it. That’s how Walter found out.” She stopped cold, paled, then shook her head, as if disbelieving what she’d said.
Savich kept his voice calm, even. “I need you to tell me if any of you have harmed or angered or injured anyone in any way, anyone who might have a reason to strike out at you or your family.” He saw they were confused, knew they believed Walter had suffered some sort of fit. “Indulge me on this,” he said. “Are you in conflict with anyone, Walter? Mr. Givens?” He nodded toward Mrs. Givens and Lisa Ann.
Lisa Ann opened her mouth, then shook her head.
Savich leaned toward her. “What, Lisa Ann?”
“It just popped into my head, but it’s silly. Tanny Alcott said she hated me. She hit me with a football once on purpose because I told on her.”
“Whatever was that about?” her mother asked her. “Goodness, Tanny’s only ten years old.”
Savich said, “What did she do?”
“One day when I was visiting the grade school, I was in the restroom and there was Tanny, making fun of another little girl. She’d had leukemia and her hair was just starting to grow back because of her chemotherapy. Tanny said she wouldn’t stop it when I asked her to and I couldn’t make her, so I told their teacher, Mrs. Abrams. I called her a mean little witch. She gave me this freak-weird look and said she’d get me for that. That’s when she said she hated me.”
“Why did you call her a witch?” Savich asked.
“Everyone in Plackett knows the Alcotts are witches. Well, Mrs. Alcott says she’s a Wiccan, so I guess she’s not a bad witch.”
Savich nodded, turned to Walter. “Has anything like that happened between you and any of the Alcotts, Walter?”
Walter shook his head, but Mr. Givens said, “Wait, Walter, remember when you were at The Gulf and got into a fight with Liggert Alcott?”
“Yeah, I remember. What happened was I saw him hit his kid, Teddy, outside the feed store last month and I told him to stop it. A week later we got into it at The Gulf. He was drunk, so Deputy Lewis hauled him off to spend the night in jail. He let me go because everyone backed me up, said Liggert was the one who started it.”
“Walter,” Savich said, “did Sparky Carroll ever harm the Alcotts in any way you know of?”
Walter thought, shook his head. “I’m sorry. Agent Savich, I can’t think of a thing. He and Brakey and I were friends all through school. Sparky and I were in and out of the Alcott house when we were kids. There was never any trouble. We always thought the Alcotts calling themselves Wiccans was funny. Sparky and I drifted away from Brakey when we got older, you know how that goes. We had less in common.”
Mrs. Givens said, “There’s Liggert. He’s older and a bully. He hits his wife, too, if what I’ve heard from my ladies is true.”
Walter said, almost in a whisper, “Sparky was one of my best friends, ever since we were kids. How could I have killed him, Agent Savich? And why?”
It was almost the same question Brakey had asked him.
PLACKETT, VIRGINIA
Friday evening
The front door at the Alcotts’ flew open. “Brakey!”
Griffin recognized Deliah Alcott easily from Savich’s description. She picked up her gauzy skirt and ran to her son, hugging him close. She ran her fingers through his hair, held his face between her hands, and asked him, “Are you all right, Brakey? Did you remember what happened? Why are you smiling? Did they prove you didn’t kill Deputy Lewis?”
Brakey put his hands on his mother’s arms, gently pushing her back. “I didn’t remember anything, but it’s okay, really. It turns out they can’t hypnotize me, but they let me come home anyway. Agent Hammersmith brought me, and look”—he bent down and pulled up the leg of his jeans—“I’ve got to wear this ankle bracelet until they find out who killed Deputy Lewis. That’s it. Otherwise I’m free to do as I please, Agent Savich told me.”
Deliah Abbott stared from that ankle bracelet to Griffin. She took Brakey’s hand. “Don’t show that bracelet off to anyone else, okay, Brakey? We don’t want people talking any more than they already are.”
Deliah Alcott turned fierce eyes to Griffin. “You’re Agent Hammersmith?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Griffin handed her his creds. “And you’re Brakey’s mom, Mrs. Alcott.”
“Yes.” She walked right up to him, got in his face. “Why is he wearing an ankle bracelet? Do you think he’s going to run off?”
“We need to know where he goes, Mrs. Alcott, that’s all. He’s having trouble remembering, and there’s a killer out there. It’s for his protection, too.”
“Bring him in, Morgana. I want to see the boy who’s brought Brakey home, too,” came a scratchy old voice from behind Mrs. Alcott.
Deliah gave Griffin a long look, then ushered him past the elaborate wooden front door with the pentacle hanging on it, over a wide threshold that would easily allow a wheelchair through it, and into the large entry hall that smelled faintly of sweet incense.
Griffin spotted the old lady Savich had told him about. Ms. Louisa, but not Louisa May. What an old tartar was his first thought. He studied her dark hooded eyes and wondered briefly if her dead son had had eyes, like hers. He introduced himself, shook her veiny arthritic hand.
“I thought the other one was a pretty boy, but you’re really a looker, aren’t you? What do you think, Morgana?”
Deliah Alcott shrugged impatiently, opened her mouth, but was interrupted by a man Griffin took to be Jonah wandering into the entry hall. He stilled. “You’re back, Brakey. That’s good they let you out. And who are you?” He stared hard at Griffin.
Griffin introduced himself again, showed his creds. Mrs. Alcott introduced her second son. While Jonah Alcott looked at them, the old lady wheeled herself into the middle of the living room, did a neat K-turn, turned off the motor of her wheelchair, and waved to them. “Well, come on in and tell us what all you smart folk think about the poor deputy’s murder. It took you long enough to figure out some crook set up my poor Brakey.”
Griffin followed Brakey and his mother into the large living room, redolent with the same sweet incense. Deliah Alcott didn’t ask him to sit down. She didn’t sit, either. She drew a deep breath. “I’ve been frantic.” She gave Brakey a quick look, as if to reassure herself he was here and he was safe. “I sent you all the positive energy that was in me today, Brakey, to get you home.” She turned back to Griffin. “So what is it you’ve got to tell me? What will happen to my son now?”
“Agent Hammersmith doesn’t agree with me, Mom,” Brakey said, “but I’m thinking how both Walter and I were drugged, and someone forced us to”—he couldn’t get it out—“do what we did.”
“But they don’t know you killed Deputy Lewis, Brakey. They just don’t have anyone else,” Deliah said. “There’s no proof, is there? So don’t give in to them. Why would you even say you did something like that?”
“Because I can’t remember and it was my truck and I don’t see how anyone else could have gotten into it.”
“Got you there, Morgana,” Ms. Louisa said, and pulled her knitting needles out of the pile of bright green and gold wool on her lap. “You’d better be careful about what you say before you get Brakey into even more trouble.”
Finesse it, Savich had told Griffin, and so he did the best he could. “Actually, Mrs. Alcott, Agent Savich and I believe someone managed to manipulate Brakey into murdering Deputy Lewis. It is this person we’re looking for now, and we’d like your help.”
He looked from Mrs. Alcott to the old lady to Jonah, the middle brother, who was now slouched against the fireplace, holding a deck of cards in his hand. Jonah said, “I thought you said Brakey couldn’t be hypnotized. If that’s the truth, then how could someone manage to talk him into killing Deputy Lewis? Is there any drug that can do that? Make you kill another person like that?”