“Yes.”
“And they left after that.”
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“A little before midnight, I think.”
He nodded and wrote a few more notes on the pad he’d brought with him. When he was done, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the medallion he’d fished out of the river earlier that morning. Since it was still encased in a baggie, I had to assume the forensics lab hadn’t inspected it yet. Made sense; the place probably wasn’t even open on Sundays.
“Do you recognize this?”
Her eyes had widened as soon as he brought it out, which was probably the only confirmation he needed. But Athene nodded and said, “Yes, it’s a GLANG medallion.”
“Yours?”
She shook her head. “I have one, but I don’t wear it much. Mine is still back at my house in Woodland Hills.”
I didn’t know why her answer surprised me. She was always at Lucien’s side, and so I’d just assumed she must also live at his house in Encino.
So much for my assumptions.
“Did Violet have a medallion like this?”
“Yes,” Athene replied. “I know Lucien gave her one a couple of months ago. His way of telling her that she was one of his favorites.”
Would Lucien have expected me to wear one of those things if I’d given in to him? Probably; I got the feeling he used them as a sort of brand, which was probably part of the reason why Athene didn’t wear hers very much. I didn’t have any more time to spend on speculation, though, because Calvin went on, “Do you know if she was wearing it when she came to Globe?”
“I — ” Athene broke off there, frowning slightly. “I don’t remember. It was fairly dark in the house — Lucien doesn’t — didn’t — like to have a lot of lights on. She probably did, though. Once Lucien gave it to her, she always wore the thing.”
Calvin made a few more notes. When he was done, he looked back up at Athene. “This evidence is all pretty circumstantial, but I want to ask you anyway. Do you think Violet Clarke murdered Lucien Dumond?”
“No.”
Only that one word, but her tone was pretty emphatic. Hazel gave me a quick sideways glance, greenish eyes questioning, and I allowed myself the barest lift of my shoulders. I’d already heard basically the same thing from Athene, but I wondered why Calvin had asked the question. Was he trying to come up with excuses why there was no reason to waste time tracking down Violet when it was obvious she couldn’t be the killer?
“Did Lucien have any enemies?”
That question elicited a bitter little chuckle. “Of course he did. All powerful men do. But whether any of them were resourceful enough or strong enough to overpower him? I doubt it.” She leaned forward and set down the glass of iced tea she’d been holding the entire time. “That’s the problem, Chief Standingbear. I can think of a whole lot of people who would have liked to see Lucien dead, but I can’t see how any of them could have managed it. Especially alone and hundreds of miles away from their base of operations.”
“But Lucien wasn’t exactly operating out of his own backyard.”
Athene seemed to consider Calvin’s statement for a moment, then shrugged. “No, but he had Violet help him cast a protection spell. That on its own would have been enough to make sure no harm came to him.”
Calvin had been impassive through their exchange, expression barely budging, but his mouth twitched then, just the slightest bit. And apparently, Athene had been looking for some sign of disbelief, because she leaned against the back of the sofa, grim satisfaction in her eyes.
“I know you think this all sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. Lucien’s spells worked just fine. How do you think he’s managed to keep himself safe all these years?”
“He didn’t keep himself safe Friday night.”
Not even a flicker in her heavy-lidded dark eyes. “No, and I think we all want to know the reason why. Since I wasn’t there, I can’t say for sure.” She crossed her arms and stared back at him. “I’ve told you everything I know. Are you still going to require me to stay in this backwater of yours, or can I go back to L.A.? I have a lot of arrangements to make. I also need to know when Lucien’s body will be released.”
“You’ll have to ask the medical examiner about that,” Calvin replied, apparently unperturbed by her “backwater” comment. “I’ll give you the number — they’ll be open tomorrow morning at eight o’clock.”
He flipped over the piece of paper he’d been writing on, then scribbled something on the one beneath it and tore it off. Athene took it from him, mouth tight.
“But sure, you can go back to California,” he went on. “Unless, of course, some new evidence presents itself.”
Her expression didn’t change. “Good. I’ll get an airport shuttle set up…unless you found Lucien’s car so I can drive it back.”
“Haven’t found the vehicle yet,” Calvin said. “But even if we had, I couldn’t release it to you unless you were on the title.”
This response seemed to annoy her, although I couldn’t tell whether she was irritated more by the fact that the Mercedes was still missing or that she wouldn’t have been able to drive it even if it wasn’t still MIA.
However, she only replied, “Good to know. Is there anything else?”
Her tone and manner were so imperious, she sounded like a queen dismissing a lackey. Someone else might have taken offense, but Calvin just said, “No, ma’am. I think that’s all for now. I’ll be in touch if anything else comes up.”
He rose from his chair, nodded at Hazel, and then sent another of those sideways glances at me. A little tingle of anticipation ran down my spine.
Calvin might not have spoken out loud, but that look clearly said, I’m not done with you yet.
12
Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner
My witchy sixth sense told me I needed to get a real dinner together, so after I said goodbye to Hazel and Athene, I headed over to Walmart and got a whole chicken and some fresh veggies, along with what looked like a nice bottle of pinot noir from Washington State. I already had rice on hand, and I figured I’d make a pilaf from the recipe my mother had passed down from my Grandma Ellen.
Some tidying up — and a quick check of my Tarot, the two of cups telling me that yes, playing Suzy Homemaker had been the right call — and a little after six o’clock, the buzzer for the back entrance to the shop sounded.
Perfect.
I hurried downstairs and opened the door. Calvin Standingbear stood outside, looking diffident.
“Right on time,” I told him.
“What?”
“Come on in.”
Expression even more nonplussed, he came into the little space that served as the back entrance’s foyer. “We need to talk,” he said.
“I know,” I replied. “Come upstairs. Dinner is almost ready.”
“Dinner?”
“You’re hungry, aren’t you?”
“Well — ”
“Exactly.”