Unless she’d been somewhere else at the time…?
As he looked at the two of them, he wondered if theirs was a marriage made in heaven, or if the two wiccans, just like everyone else, had encountered a few bumps in their relationship.
“We closed at four, yes,” Adam said.
“And then?” Jeremy asked politely.
“And then?” Eve repeated. “Then we went to meet up with the others. Like I said, it was Sammhein. A big night for us.”
“A lot of people wearing cloaks, I imagine,” Jeremy said.
“Of course,” Eve agreed. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “You think that whoever kidnapped Mary—whether it was that fortune-teller or someone else—just put on a cloak and blended in with everyone else.”
“And maybe he could have hidden Mary under a cloak and forced her along with him,” Brad said.
Jeremy was startled just then when his phone rang. He excused himself to answer it and was surprised to discover that Detective Joe Brentwood was on the other end.
“I hear you’re retracing Mary Johnstone’s steps on the day she disappeared,” Joe said.
“You have to start somewhere,” Jeremy said. “How do you know what I’m doing, anyway?”
Not that it was any great secret. Nor did it surprise him that either Joe had been asking about him or the locals had told Joe about the fact that he was asking questions.
“Little birds, all over the city, just like you’d figure,” Joe said.
“So you’re keeping tabs on me?”
Joe laughed. “No, I’m not dogging you. People around here just trust me, and they’re not sure about you yet. Anyway, call me an old worrywart if you want to, but Rowenna was going to meet me for a cup of coffee, but she ran out of gas on her way in to town.”
“She ran out of gas?” Jeremy said, incredulous. Rowenna didn’t seem like the kind of woman to let her tank run down to fumes.
Jeremy felt as if a slew of icebergs were cascading down his spine.
And Joe thought he was being a worrywart?
“You didn’t go after her?”
“Can’t—I’m on duty. That’s why I’m calling you. She’s got AAA, but I’d feel better if you’d head out after her.” Brentwood’s tone was gruff. Joe could tell it cost the man to ask him for help, especially where Rowenna was concerned. “I’d have sent out a car, but she’d just be mad at me. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention the fact that I called you. She doesn’t like folks thinking she can’t handle herself, you know?”
“Yeah, thanks. Consider me on my way,” Jeremy said.
He shut his phone, ending the call, and returned to the others. “I’ve got to go,” he said briefly. “Brad?”
“Hey, buddy, I’m with you,” Brad told him.
“Is something wrong?” Eve asked anxiously.
Adam, at her side, watched him speculatively.
“No, no, nothing. We’ll see you again soon. Thanks for your help. Brad, you can just wait for me here if you want.”
“Hell, no. I feel like all I do is wait,” Brad said.
He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want to take Brad with him. He wasn’t sure why Joe had been so concerned, or why he was feeling the grip of anxiety himself.
There wasn’t any time to argue with Brad, though. They would probably just ride out there and end up keeping Rowenna company while she waited for the service guy to get there with the gas. Of course, he could have stopped to fill a gas can himself.
Except that he couldn’t get to his car fast enough.
Rowenna felt her feet sink into the dirt as she left the pavement and headed into the cornfield.
She stopped.
She could see the scarecrows in the distance, rising above the rows of ripening corn. The stalks rose high, but the scarecrows rose higher.
The crows were circling, eerie silhouettes against the autumn sky, their cawing like a forewarning.
She didn’t want to move forward, but she also felt that she had no choice, that she couldn’t be ridiculous and let irrational fear control her. She felt compelled, as if beckoned by the crows themselves, which scared her. But in the far back of her mind, a kernel of reason was telling her irritably that if she didn’t make herself get over the absurdity of the nightmare—no doubt some messed-up, Freudian reaction to the scarecrow contests of her youth—she would spend the rest of her life being afraid. She needed to march right in and dispel all the nonsense haunting her mind.
Because the mind played tricks.
She paused just inside the first row, breathing in the redolence of the earth. This was real. She felt the ground beneath her feet, felt the nip in the air, saw the sky, autumn’s hint of blue fighting against the growing sweep of thunderous gray, a warning of the winter to come.
The cornstalks grew high, in their neat rows, seeming to stretch out forever and ever.
And then, like sentinels, rising in a line above the tall stalks that bent and waved in the cool breeze, the scarecrows.