“I’ll handle the scene. We might get lucky and find something.”
Rocky nodded and turned to Devin. “Let’s go get the car,” he said, and took her hand. She clutched his tightly, and they hurried toward the garage where he’d left his car.
*
Beth was going to be all right; the doctors gave her the thumbs-up after a thorough examination. Nothing was broken, though she’d sustained some bruising. They were keeping her overnight, though, just in case of concussion.
By late that afternoon Devin knew it was fine for her to leave. Gayle was sitting by Beth’s side, holding her hand. Theo was there, too, after making an executive decision to close the store for the day. Beth was in good hands and didn’t need her there, too.
She’d been gone a long time, she thought. Theo and Gayle were closer to Beth now than she was.
She also wanted to rejoin Rocky, who she knew was feeling both puzzled and frustrated.
Beth hadn’t been robbed, and the only injury her attacker had inflicted was the blow to the head that had knocked her out and sent her into the foliage. She’d been unable to tell Rocky anything except that the attack had happened around 9:30 a.m. as she’d been on her way to get the store ready for her usual 10:00 a.m. opening.
That was it. She’d been walking along and hadn’t noticed anyone behind her. She hadn’t even heard her attacker come up from behind.
That was all she could remember.
He’d pressed hard, until she’d started to look upset. Devin had stopped him then, and suggested quietly that maybe he could try again later, and he’d left the room to pace restlessly in the hall until Devin was ready to go.
When she joined him, he stuck his head into the room and told them to keep in contact, then started walking quickly toward the hospital garage.
Devin followed and kept silent. Clearly his mind was elsewhere.
“I don’t understand it,” he finally said when they were in the car. “She fits the profile of our killer’s victims, but nothing about the attack fits, other than the nearby trees.”
“Rocky, there is a possibility she was just attacked by a random mugger,” Devin said.
“Except her purse was there, her cell phone... Not a lot of cash, but it didn’t look as if the attacker even dug through her bag. He just knocked her out.”
“Maybe he was trying to close down her shop for the day,” Devin suggested.
“Because...?”
“I don’t know. I still don’t understand any of this.”
“I wish your ancestor would talk to us,” he said. “Your aunt Mina is full of talk, but Margaret Nottingham—who might actually know something useful―doesn’t have a thing to say.”
“Maybe she’ll come to the house,” Devin said hopefully. She hesitated, then said, “I don’t know if anyone had a chance to tell you in all the excitement, but before we went to Beth’s store we tried to talk to Brent, but his store was closed and he wasn’t answering his cell.” She took a deep breath. “We found a waitress who recognized Hermione Robicheaux and had even talked to her about her plans. Hermione was all excited. She said she was going to do everything―go to Danvers, go to the museums and take every ghost tour out there.”
“I need to talk to Brent,” Rocky said. “We’ll start with the store. Maybe he just opened late.”
Rocky found street parking on Derby Street and they walked up Essex to Which Witch Is Which.
It was open and full of customers, so they waited until Brent was done helping people.
Devin thought he was going to assume that they’d come to see him because of the attack on Beth, which he’d undoubtedly heard about by now. And that meant he was bound to be angry.
But he wasn’t. When he finished his sale and turned to them, he was smiling and self-righteous. “I’m in the clear on this, and I can prove it. I was at Red’s from 8:30 a.m. until after noon, doing paperwork for the store, and at least twenty people saw me. My waitress was named Gilda, and both she and the hostess can swear I never left my booth that whole time. Gilda and I started talking, and I may even have made a date.”
“We tried to call you and it went straight to voice mail,” Devin said, carefully steering clear of telling him why they’d called.
“Sorry, dead battery,” he said, pointing to his phone charging beside the register.
“No worries, Brent. We didn’t come to accuse you of anything,” Rocky said.
“No?” Brent said, surprised.
“We need help. I think that phone really was slipped into your pocket, probably by someone who knows you usually go for a drink when your tour is over. Meanwhile, we have an ID on our Jane Doe.”
“Ah yes, Hermione Robicheaux.” At the startled look on Rocky’s face he said, “Your friends were in here already. Don’t you guys communicate?”