He did so.
“In his golden years, Pete Edwards rued his sins, and made public much of what he had done. He said that he’d never committed murder, but that he had relied on rites learned from a Santeria priest on an excursion in the islands, and from a voodoo priestess in New Orleans. While neither religion worshipped Satan, voodoo practitioners were known for communication with unhappy spirits, and Santeria also recognized malignant beings in the underworld. He concocted his own formula, partially drawn from his affection for Dante’s Inferno as well—drawing a pentagram on the beach and placing lanterns at each point. Animal sacrifice was carried out in the center of the pentagram. Though he sought the help of Satan, it was for a godly reason, Pete Edwards believed. The South claimed the war was fought over state’s rights, but in Pete’s eyes, the Confederacy stood for slavery and nothing else. He was doing God’s work through the devil to end the war. In the end, he turned back to God, the Christian God, and did penance. The man calling himself Abel Crowley came to Key West at a time when Pete was trying to atone. Crowley had heard about Pete’s exploits during the war, but was of the belief that Pete had downplayed his role. He was convinced that Pete’s mumbo jumbo of Satanism, voodoo and Santeria demanded blood, and that there was an incredible power in worshipping dark forces. From eyewitness accounts, it’s suspected that Abel Crowley was a magician and a hypnotist; he could use mind control to force what he desired.”
“Sick people,” Clarinda noted.
“Very, but it’s interesting to realize that people don’t really change, don’t you think?” Ted asked.
“Yes, but…,” Kelsey began.
“But what?” Liam asked her.
“I don’t know. I believe in the power of the human will, and in goodness, and in evil—in men’s hearts. But it’s night. Me not believing it is night will not make it day,” she said.
“Yes, but,” Katie argued, “isn’t every reality a perception?”
“Only if we let it be,” Kelsey said. “Think of The Emperor’s New Clothes! Someone out there knows that what isn’t real, isn’t real.”
“You all are giving me a headache,” Ted said.
Clarinda stood. “Let me get your orders. Jamie said I could take an hour and hang with you all, but let me get the ball rolling here. Fish sandwiches are fresh and delicious,” she suggested.
“All the way around? We’ll make it easy?” Liam suggested.
It was agreed.
While Clarinda went in to get drinks and put in the food order, Jaden told Liam, “You might want to move on to page three hundred.”
He did so.
“Aloud, please!” Kelsey asked him. He read, “At the turn of the century, with Spiritualism still a rage across the western world, the concept of owning holy relics became popular. Throughout Europe through many ages, and in other societies as well, holy relics were said to be godly. Lockets with hair from dead saints, reliquaries with bone fragments, even pieces of the deceased kept in small caskets, were said to ward off evil. In contrast, the fingers and toes of hanged criminals were also said to keep away evil. Abel Crowley became obsessed with the collection of these reliquaries, but on his deathbed, Peter Edwards swore that he had never owned such a relic, and that Abel Crowley had been a hypocrite—he had only ever sought out such reliquaries for their monetary value in gold, silver and gems.”
“Well, there you go,” Katie said softly.
Kelsey sighed. “It’s still so hard to fathom. Mind control, good spirits, evil spirits, my mom gone a very long time, Gary White just murdered, Cutter…and Avery.”
“And,” Ted pointed out, looking at Liam, “the slaughter of a goat on Smathers Beach.”
Liam shrugged. “The mind can go awry. Perhaps it all began innocuously enough—a man wanted to steal a diamond. The diamond was in a reliquary. We’re back to the whole point of perception. If the thief believed he could practice black magic—maybe in context with the fact that he knew people were on certain medications that could cause hallucinations—he could project fear and terror and make it happen. I don’t know. I’m hoping we have a real lead. The clerk who sold the goat gave an artist a description of the culprit. Tomorrow, we’ll put it through the computer and see what we can come up with.”
Coming out of the back door of O’Hara’s, Clarinda suddenly dropped her tray. The drinks exploded in a shower of liquid and glass.
“Oh!” Clarinda gasped. “What a klutz! I don’t remember the last time I did something like that,” she said.
“Let me help you,” Katie said, leaping up.
“It’s all right,” Clarinda said.
“Nonsense. My uncle owns this place, and I’ve picked up many a spill, mostly my own.”