tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18171321805532432102024-03-13T21:36:10.915-07:00SuperstitionThe Continuing Adventures of Dashiell Aldridge
<br>
Updates Tuesdays and SaturdaysAllan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-62136867393031727792008-08-17T21:43:00.001-07:002008-08-17T21:43:43.651-07:00Big Announcement!I am once again following the esteemable Gavin Williams' lead and have taken a new home over at DigitalNovelists.com.<br /><br />Starting Monday (today), all new updates for both AEOL and Superstition (as well as archives) can be found at <a href="http://allantmichaels.digitalnovelists.com/">http://allantmichaels.digitalnovelists.com</a>.<br /><br />I hope to see you there!Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-64275868590641547152008-08-16T22:20:00.001-07:002008-08-16T22:20:38.117-07:00Chapter 18“Missing?” Peter Scofield asked.<br /><br />“Yes,” Dashiell replied. “We believe the killer took it after finishing with your mother.”<br /><br />Peter Scofield thought about this, then nodded. “Well there you go. Elizabeth would have taken it, so that its details would never see the light of day. While she has her flaws, lack of intelligence is not one of Elizabeth’s failings. She would know Mother’s death would only fuel interest in her book. Therefore, it can never be allowed to see the light of day.”<br /><br />“You realize,” Regina said, “that means she’s probably destroyed the manuscript.”<br /><br />“Of course,” Peter Scofield said. “That would stand to reason.”<br /><br />“Well, absent that manuscript, there’s nothing, other than your theory, which ties your sister to your mother’s death.”<br /><br />Peter Scofield half smiled. “As I said, Detective, Elizabeth is not lacking in intelligence.”<br /><br />“There’s another problem,” Regina said. “The timeline doesn’t fit. We know your mother was alive when the reporter and photographer from Washington Woman left at 11 a.m. Watson didn’t report seeing your sister at all this morning. That doesn’t seem like the sort of detail he’d leave out.”<br /><br />This time, Peter Scofield did smile. “Detective Robins, all of us children have been sneaking in and out of the house without disturbing Watson for years. It was the only way we could indulge in our various youthful discretions. It even became a game. I assure you, Elizabeth was quite capable of coming and going from the house without alerting anyone to her presence.”<br /><br />“As are you?” Regina asked pointedly.<br /><br />“Of course. But why would I want to harm my mother? And more importantly, why would I tell you I had the ability to do so undetected?”<br /><br />“That seems to be a question we’ve been running into a lot today,” Regina said.<br /><br />Dashiell had his arms crossed, one hand stroking his chin, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. “Mr. Scofield, you know why Mr. Watson hired me, don’t you?”<br /><br />“Because you’re reputed to be the best occult detective in the Metropolitan area. You had an exemplary record of government service and the police routinely hire you to help in cases involving the occult.”<br /><br />“Exactly,” Dashiell replied. “Which leaves me wondering…even assuming your sister had a motive to kill your mother, how she would have accomplished it? Specifically, how she would have done it in a way that required my services?”<br /><br />“Oh that’s easy, Mr. Aldridge. Elizabeth has been interested in the occult for years.”Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-45425345802935332392008-08-06T21:18:00.000-07:002008-08-16T22:21:06.384-07:00Chapter 17<p class="MsoNormal">Silence reigned for several seconds.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally, Dashiell broke it.<span style=""> </span>“Your sister?<span style=""> </span>Why do you think that?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I think it had to do with her autobiography.<span style=""> </span>My mother was being quite frank.<span style=""> </span>Some of the information may have been….less than flattering.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“So you’ve seen a copy?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Not as such, no.<span style=""> </span>But mother was completely open about her book with us.<span style=""> </span>She called each of us in and told us what she planned to write.<span style=""> </span>I didn’t speak directly with <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> about it, but I know she was quite upset when she left Mother’s office.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> exchanged a look.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell spoke next.<span style=""> </span>“And when was that, Mr. Scofield?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peter paused for a moment and thought.<span style=""> </span>“It must have been….about two weeks ago now is when Mother spoke to me.<span style=""> </span>She spoke to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Elizabeth</st1:place></st1:city> just before me.<span style=""> </span>I passed her on my way in.<span style=""> </span>She appeared to be in tears.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What sort of information was your mother going to reveal about your sister?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> interjected.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t know all the details of my sister’s youth.<span style=""> </span>But I understand there were some….indiscretions.<span style=""> </span>Things that would be quite embarrassing for someone in our social circle.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Embarrassing?” Dashiell commented.<span style=""> </span>“There’s a far cry to being embarrassed by something and being willing to kill over it.<span style=""> </span>Especially when the victim is your own mother.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Mr. Aldridge, you need to understand.<span style=""> </span>My sister has a certain reputation among her friends.<span style=""> </span>She was held up by all of our friends' parents as the ideal to which they should strive.<span style=""> </span>That image has carried with her to this day. <span style=""> </span>If it were to be tarnished, or worse yet, flat out destroyed, it would devastate her.”<span style=""> </span>He paused.<span style=""> </span>“Sad to say, yes, I believe that protecting her reputation would be enough to drive her to this desperate end.<span style=""> </span>Especially given….”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Especially given, what?” Dashiell prompted.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry, Mr. Aldridge, Detective Robins.<span style=""> </span>There are some things we just don’t discuss outside the family.<span style=""> </span>Certain topics we are ingrained not to mention.<span style=""> </span>It is a habit that is hard to break, especially after so many years.<span style=""> </span>But then, there’s no need to hide it from you.<span style=""> </span>You’ve doubtless already read, or will shortly read, Mother’s book.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> and Dashiell exchanged another look.<span style=""> </span>“Actually….” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> began, letting her sentence trail off.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What?” Peter asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“The only copy of the manuscript is missing.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/08/book-2-chapter-18.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-19268679660626802072008-08-03T23:47:00.000-07:002008-08-06T21:19:49.564-07:00Chapter 16<p class="MsoNormal">The doors opened on a plush lobby area.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> stepped out and turned to the left.<span style=""> </span>There, behind a set of glass doors sat a reception desk.<span style=""> </span>The desk was backed by dark wood paneling.<span style=""> </span>Gold letters spelled out the name of the firm, Scofield and Associates.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell shook his head.<span style=""> </span>Leave it to the old man to hog all the glory.<span style=""> </span>Most other law firms had at least two partner names on the wall.<span style=""> </span>Crowell and Moring.<span style=""> </span>Powell Goldstein.<span style=""> </span>Wilmer Hale.<span style=""> </span>But William Scofield, the family patriarch, had insisted on top, and only billing.<span style=""> </span>It was a subtle reminder that even though other lawyers might make partner, compared to the Scofields, they were merely associates.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell stepped forward and held the door for <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>She walked up to the reception desk and Dashiell stood next to her.<span style=""> </span>“Dashiell Aldridge and Regina Robins to see Peter Scofield,” he said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, of course Mr. Aldridge.<span style=""> </span>If you’ll please have a seat, I’ll let Mr. Scofield know you’re here.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell looked over in the indicated direction.<span style=""> </span>There was a large slab of white tiled floor, upon which sat several large plush chairs, upholstered in what looked like calf leather.<span style=""> </span>There was a large table, upon which sat a variety of legal publications, as well as copies of the Economist and Foreign Affairs.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Mr. Scofield will be with you in just a moment,” the receptionist, a young man in his early twenties said.<span style=""> </span>“May I get you something to drink?<span style=""> </span>Water?<span style=""> </span>Soda?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No thanks,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> said.<span style=""> </span>The young man looked at Dashiell, who shook his head.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell settled into one of the large chairs as <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> paced around.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Two or three minutes passed.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell was just about to grab the copy of the Economist when movement caught his eye.<span style=""> </span>There was a spiral staircase in the middle of an open area, off to the left of the reception area.<span style=""> </span>A well dressed man was walking down it.<span style=""> </span>He appeared to be dressed in well tailored slacks, an <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Oxford</st1:place></st1:city> blue shirt, dark tie and suspenders.<span style=""> </span>He wasn’t wearing a jacket.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When he reached the lobby floor, Dashiell noted expensive-looking black leather shoes, polished to a mirror shine.<span style=""> </span>He coughed lightly, and when <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> looked his way, he thrust his chin toward the man.<span style=""> </span>She turned to look at him as he came up, extending a hand.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Mr. Aldridge?<span style=""> </span>Detective Robins?”<span style=""> </span>Dashiell nodded an affirmative.<span style=""> </span>“Peter Scofield.<span style=""> </span>I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but under the circumstances I think you’ll understand my lack of enthusiasm.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Of course, Mr. Scofield,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> said, shaking his hand.<span style=""> </span>“We’re sorry for your loss.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell levered himself out of the chair and also shook Scofield’s hand.<span style=""> </span>“What was it you wanted to see me about?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Right to the point, I like that,” Peter Scofield nodded.<span style=""> </span>“Please, come to my office.<span style=""> </span>What I need to tell you needs to be said in private.”<span style=""> </span>Dashiell nodded and Peter Scofield headed back for the stairs.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> followed.<span style=""> </span>He led them down a hall on the upper floor to a large set of heavy oak doors.<span style=""> </span>He held them open as they walked in to a large office.<span style=""> </span>The entire far wall was floor-to-ceiling windows, with a view out over the downtown area.<span style=""> </span>Thanks to the height restrictions in the D.C. building code, Dashiell could see the Capitol.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peter Scofield shut the heavy doors and came around to his desk, leaning against it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Thank you for coming on such short notice.<span style=""> </span>I understand that in murder investigations, the first twenty four hours are the most important.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, Mr. Scofield, you should know,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> said, casting a sidelong glance at Dashiell.<span style=""> </span>“We haven’t officially ruled this case a homicide yet.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell opened his mouth to protest when Peter Scofield made it unnecessary.<span style=""> </span>“That’s why I called you here, Detective Robins.<span style=""> </span>I wanted to tell you I think I know who killed my mother.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> both froze.<span style=""> </span>They looked at each other for a moment, before turning their eyes back to Peter Scofield.<span style=""> </span>He answered the obvious question.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I believe it was my sister, Elizabeth.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/08/book-2-chapter-17.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-89406939467963848722008-07-30T00:17:00.001-07:002008-08-03T23:48:46.308-07:00Chapter 15<p class="MsoNormal">He fished his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, trying to control his irritation.<span style=""> </span>“Hello?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, this is Dashiell Aldridge, who’s this?”<span style=""> </span>Dashiell listened for a moment and then looked up at <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>, his eyebrows raised in surprise.<span style=""> </span>She looked at him questioningly in response.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Hello Mr. Scofield.<span style=""> </span>How can I help you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Regina</st1:city></st1:place> mouthed “Mr. Scofield”?<span style=""> </span>Dashiell nodded in response.<span style=""> </span>“Yes, I’ve spoken with Mr. Watson….No, none of the suspects have panned out so far, sir.”<span style=""> </span>He looked down at his watch.<span style=""> </span>“Yes, sir.<span style=""> </span>I can be there in half an hour.<span style=""> </span>Do you mind if I bring my partner?”<span style=""> </span>He paused.<span style=""> </span>“Detective Regina Robins, Metro PD…..Very well, sir.<span style=""> </span>We’ll be there soon.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He closed the phone and returned it to his pocket.<span style=""> </span>“What was that about?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That was Peter Scofield, the elder son.<span style=""> </span>He told me he’s got some information that might be helpful.<span style=""> </span>He didn’t want to say what it was over the phone, so he invited us over to his office.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And you told him we’d be there in half an hour?<span style=""> </span>Dash, it’s rush hour.<span style=""> </span>And his office is back downtown.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell smiled.<span style=""> </span>“Relax, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>Most of the traffic is heading out, it being so close to the end of the day.<span style=""> </span>And his office is down on K.<span style=""> </span>We could walk there in less time.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Not in this heat, Dash.”<span style=""> </span>She shook her head, the hint of a smile appearing at the corners of her mouth.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He chuckled.<span style=""> </span>“Of course not.<span style=""> </span>But let’s go.<span style=""> </span>His office is on 17<sup>th</sup> and K.<span style=""> </span>Finding parking won’t be easy.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell slid into the passenger seat as <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> got behind the wheel.<span style=""> </span>She pulled out into traffic and headed back downtown.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“So what do you think he has to tell us, Dash?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I have no idea.<span style=""> </span>But hopefully it’ll be a motive.<span style=""> </span>If we can figure out <i style="">why</i> Mrs. Scofield was killed, we might be able to figure out <i style="">who</i> did it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> nodded.<span style=""> </span>They sat in silence for the rest of the ride.<span style=""> </span>The tension of their fight had been broken, but it still hung in the air.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell wondered what would have happened if his phone hadn’t rang when it did.<span style=""> </span>He didn’t like fighting with <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>She was his best friend and the only person he spent a considerable amount of time with.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She pulled into a garage near the corner of 18<sup>th</sup> and K.<span style=""> </span>She flashed her badge at the attendant and he waved her in.<span style=""> </span>She grabbed a spot on the topmost level.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell exited the car and walked with <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> back up the ramp.<span style=""> </span>They entered the glass doors of the building into a massive lobby and approached the reception desk.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Dashiell Aldridge to see Peter Scofield.”<span style=""> </span>The guard handed over a roster, and Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> signed in.<span style=""> </span>He then walked them over to an elevator, pulling out a Kastle Key.<span style=""> </span>He pressed the up button and when the golden doors opened, he leaned in, flashed the key over a sensor and pressed the button for the 8<sup>th</sup> floor.<span style=""> </span>He headed back to his desk as the doors closed.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/08/book-2-chapter-16.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-56595688676738514492008-07-26T00:09:00.001-07:002008-07-30T00:17:54.458-07:00Chapter 14<p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell and <st1:city st="on">Regina</st1:city> walked back towards <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>’s car.<span style=""> </span>“So where does that leave us, Dash?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That’s a good question.<span style=""> </span>Jessica and Carolyn backed each other up.<span style=""> </span>So unless you believe they are part of a conspiracy, that counts both of them out.<span style=""> </span>And as we’ve discussed previously, it makes no sense for Watson to have done it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It’s possible that the death was natural, Dash.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“But that doesn’t explain the absence of a soul.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, Dash, do souls <i style="">always</i> hang around for a full six hours?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Typically yes. <span style=""> </span>And as far as we’ve been able to determine, we were there within three hours.<span style=""> </span>And I’m not aware of any cases where a soul departed in that short a time absent outside influences.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, Dash….”<span style=""> </span>She hesitated, stopping outside the door to her car.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What is it, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Is…is it possible Watson was right?<span style=""> </span>Is it possible that something went wrong with the spell?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell shook his head.<span style=""> </span>“No <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>I followed the proscribed spells.<span style=""> </span>I’ve done them successfully before.<span style=""> </span>Something took her soul.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“But Dash….even you admit it’s been a while since you’ve performed the spell.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell stiffened a bit.<span style=""> </span>“<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>, the spell was cast correctly.<span style=""> </span>You haven’t doubted one of my spells since the first time we worked together.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I know Dash, but….”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“But what?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“But unless we get something from the toxicology report, there’s nothing to indicate this death wasn’t natural, except for your inability to raise her soul.<span style=""> </span>And all of our suspects have alibis.<span style=""> </span>They don’t have opportunity, except for Watson, and he has no motive.<span style=""> </span>And none of them have the means to make her soul disappear.<span style=""> </span>Occam’s Razor says—“</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t want to hear about Occam’s Razor, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>It rarely applies in my line of work, because Occam didn’t deal in the world of the occult.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I know, Dash…but we have to face facts.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And what fact is that?<span style=""> </span>That I screwed up?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m not saying that Dash….”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Then I’m not sure what you’re saying.<span style=""> </span>Either I screwed up or someone killed Mrs. Scofield.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, Dash, if you come up with a suspect, be sure to let me know!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell looked like he was about to respond when suddenly, his cell phone rang.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/07/book-2-chapter-15.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-58615593120237690142008-07-24T23:25:00.000-07:002008-07-26T00:10:41.598-07:00Chapter 13<p class="MsoNormal">The office was sparsely furnished, the chairs and desk all slick black matte and chrome.<span style=""> </span>The walls were painted a deep blue.<span style=""> </span>Along the wall to the left of the doors was a large set of shelves on which sat a variety of cameras.<span style=""> </span>Some were old-fashioned, while others were brand new.<span style=""> </span>They ranged from old film 35mm cameras to ultra-modern digitals, with formats ranging from Polaroid to large format.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> stepped forward as Carolyn Bartlett allowed the doors to close and walked around the desk to take her seat.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> sat as well.<span style=""> </span>“I was terribly sorry to learn about Elaine.<span style=""> </span>And to think I saw her just this morning.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That’s what we’d like to talk to you about,” Dashiell said.<span style=""> </span>“We understand you may be one of the last people to see her alive.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I guess so.<span style=""> </span>Jessica Hill and I went to see her on behalf of Washington Woman.<span style=""> </span>But of course, you know that.<span style=""> </span>I’m sorry.<span style=""> </span>I’m a little shaken up.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You knew Mrs. Scofield well?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Not really.<span style=""> </span>Elaine and I travelled in some of the same social circles.<span style=""> </span>I’ve done some work for her and the family before.<span style=""> </span>But it was a professional relationship.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yet you call her Elaine,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> pointed out.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, as I said, we’ve seen each other at parties and such.<span style=""> </span>That was the limit of our social interaction.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Can you tell us about the interview?” Dashiell asked, trying to get the interview back on track.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“We arrived just before ten a.m. and I set up my lights while Jessica asked some preliminary questions.<span style=""> </span>The interview got going in earnest and I went to work.<span style=""> </span>I’m known for my documentary style when it comes to photos for interviews and other profiles.<span style=""> </span>Just before eleven we wrapped things up and I packed up my equipment.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You don’t work with an assistant?” Dashiell asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No, not in these situations.<span style=""> </span>Having assistants around tends to hamper the flow of things and that affects the pictures.<span style=""> </span>And I’m still fairly spry for my age.”<span style=""> </span>She smiled.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And that was the last time you saw Mrs. Scofield?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> interjected.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes.<span style=""> </span>Jessica and I left.<span style=""> </span>I came back here and I assume she went back to her office.<span style=""> </span>I’ve been here working ever since.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, I wanted to ask about that.<span style=""> </span>You said you were in the dark room.<span style=""> </span>You still shoot with film?” Dashiell asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes,” she replied.<span style=""> </span>“For some shots, I do.<span style=""> </span>Elaine Scofield was writing an autobiography.<span style=""> </span>It was a look back at her life and I wanted to evoke that feeling by using an older style of photography.<span style=""> </span>I lit her like they used to light Eva Gardner and other starlets.<span style=""> </span>It was all very 1950s.<span style=""> </span>So I went with three cameras.<span style=""> </span>A digital for archival purposes, as well as medium and large format cameras.<span style=""> </span>Nothing in the digital world can touch the sheer quality of a larger negative.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell nodded.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> was flipping through her notebook.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, that matches up with what Miss Hill told us,” she said.<span style=""> </span>“Thank you for your time, Ms. Bartlett.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Happy to help in any way I can, Detective.<span style=""> </span>May I ask a question?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Of course.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“How did Elaine die?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry, Ms. Bartlett, but we can’t discuss those sorts of details in an on-going investigation,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> answered.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Of course, Detective.<span style=""> </span>I was just curious, since the police were involved.”<span style=""> </span>She paused.<span style=""> </span>“It’s probably best I don’t know.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> looked at Carolyn Bartlett’s face, and her own softened.<span style=""> </span>“It was nothing gruesome.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Scofield was a powerful figure in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state> life and by all reports in excellent health.<span style=""> </span>Her sudden demise was unexpected, and thus we felt it best to investigate pending a cause of death.”<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> hesitated.<span style=""> </span>“I’d appreciate you not repeating that to anyone.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Carolyn relaxed.<span style=""> </span>“Of course, Detective.<span style=""> </span>Thank you for that.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You’re welcome,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, we should get going, stop taking up your valuable time,” Dashiell said.<span style=""> </span>He had been examining the various cameras on the shelves.<span style=""> </span>He turned to go.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Just one more thing,” Dashiell said, pausing at the glass double doors.<span style=""> </span>“Did you happen to listen to the interview?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Carolyn’s brow furrowed.<span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry, Detective, no.<span style=""> </span>I was there while Elaine and Jessica were talking, but when I’m looking through the camera my mind is wholly focused on my work.<span style=""> </span>I tend to tune everything else out.<span style=""> </span>Why?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell shrugged.<span style=""> </span>“Just curious.<span style=""> </span>It’s possible she said something that could be of use to us.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry Detective.<span style=""> </span>You’d have to ask Jessica for her notes.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Of course.<span style=""> </span>Thank you for your time.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/07/book-2-chapter-14.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-35889933806598234672008-07-15T23:08:00.001-07:002008-07-24T23:26:42.430-07:00Chapter 12<p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> drove them the short distance over to <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Dupont Circle</st1:address></st1:street>.<span style=""> </span>While the gallery district hosted a great deal of Carolyn Bartlett’s work, her studio was located in an out of the way building not too far from Dashiell’s own office.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They entered the building and were confronted by a massive granite desk, behind which sat an officious looking man with close-cropped hair.<span style=""> </span>He had a headset on with a microphone perched before his mouth.<span style=""> </span>Behind him was a massive print of a still life, done in black and white.<span style=""> </span>It featured a large white lily in a dark vase.<span style=""> </span>Underneath were the words “Carolyn Bartlett Photography.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Carolyn Bartlett Photography, how may I help you?”<span style=""> </span>Dashiell was about to say something when the man behind the desk spoke again.<span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry, she’s not available at the moment, may I take a message?”<span style=""> </span>He typed something on his computer keyboard.<span style=""> </span>“I’m afraid she’s booked on the 17<sup>th</sup>.<span style=""> </span>It looks like she has an opening on the 23<sup>rd</sup>.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell turned to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>, who raised an eyebrow, then flashed her badge at the man behind the desk.<span style=""> </span>He gave it the barest glance and then finished typing.<span style=""> </span>“We’ll see you then, Senator.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He clicked a button on his desk and turned back to his computer, typing rapidly.<span style=""> </span>It appeared for all the world as if he had forgotten Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> were standing there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> began to tap her nails on the granite.<span style=""> </span>After about thirty seconds, the officious little man turned his eyes toward her.<span style=""> </span>“Yes, officer?<span style=""> </span>How can I help you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“We’d like to see Ms. Bartlett,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> said, her tone a bit snappish.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And do you have an appointment?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“THIS is my appointment,” she replied, laying her badge on the desktop and tapping it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“So that’s a no,” the little man said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>’s upper lip began to curl in an expression Dashiell recognized as trouble.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Please tell Ms. Bartlett that the police would like to see her,” he intervened.<span style=""> </span>“We have some questions about her photo shoot this morning at Scofield Manor.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The man’s eyes darted to Dashiell and looked him over.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell felt as if the man could correctly guess the cost of his outfit and how much change he had in his pocket.<span style=""> </span>“I’m sorry, sir, but Ms. Bartlett is very busy—“</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Oh send them back, Geoffrey,” a feminine voice arose from the air around the desk.<span style=""> </span>Whoever had installed the hidden speakers had done a very good job.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Very well, ma’am.<span style=""> </span>You may head back.”<span style=""> </span>He indicated with one hand a path to the right of the wall behind him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> picked up her badge and stalked in the indicated direction, Dashiell hurrying after.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They walked behind the wall with the large painting and the hallway turned to the right, heading into the building’s interior.<span style=""> </span>The walls were lined with various photos of famous people and beautiful places.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell recognized some of them from magazine covers and others from art museums.<span style=""> </span>There were a set of glass double doors at the end of the hallway and a woman who appeared to be in her early sixties was stepping out from them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She was trim and dressed in well cut slacks, with a black turtleneck.<span style=""> </span>Her hair was silver, not white, and hung loose around her shoulders.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Good afternoon, officers.<span style=""> </span>I’m Carolyn Bartlett.<span style=""> </span>My apologies for Geoffrey.<span style=""> </span>I was working in the darkroom and he knows I don’t like to be disturbed.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Not even for the police?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked somewhat sharply.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m sorry officer.<span style=""> </span>We regularly see agents from the Secret Service and <st1:country-region st="on">U.S.</st1:country-region> <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Marshalls</st1:place></st1:city> here, as well as numerous private bodyguards.<span style=""> </span>Many of them try to intimidate Geoffrey and so he’s grown a prickly exterior.<span style=""> </span>My services are in high demand and he’s very protective of my time.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">"Now, I believe you said you had some questions about my visit to see Elaine Scofield this morning?<span style=""> </span>Gayle Norton told me what happened.<span style=""> </span>It’s just awful.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell stepped forward before <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> said something she might regret.<span style=""> </span>“Yes, a real tragedy.<span style=""> </span>We just have a couple of questions.<span style=""> </span>We’ve already spoken with Jessica Hill.<span style=""> </span>We just need to confirm a few details.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Anything you need.<span style=""> </span>I’m happy to help out in whatever way I can.<span style=""> </span>Please, step into my office.”<span style=""> </span>She held the door as Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> stepped inside.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/07/book-2-chapter-13.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-1428302373224005672008-07-12T23:36:00.003-07:002008-07-23T00:24:51.981-07:00Chapter 11<p class="MsoNormal">“What do you think?” Dashiell asked as they walked back to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>’s car.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t think she did it,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> replied.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell nodded.<span style=""> </span>“I don’t think so either.<span style=""> </span>Her surprise read as genuine to me, and she didn’t act like someone who has been caught by the police.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That was my thinking.<span style=""> </span>So where does that leave us?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, clearly it leaves us with Ms. Bartlett.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“But they were together.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Bartlett</st1:place></st1:city> couldn’t have killed her without Jessica knowing.<span style=""> </span>Besides, Carolyn Bartlett is a world-renowned photographer.<span style=""> </span>What reason would she have for killing Elaine Scofield?<span style=""> </span>And more importantly, how would she have done it?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Both excellent questions,” Dashiell acknowledged.<span style=""> </span>“I suppose when we discover the answers, we’ll have solved the mystery.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> stopped walking and looked at Dashiell.<span style=""> </span>“Would you stop talking like Sherlock Holmes.<span style=""> </span>Doesn’t it make much more sense to say the butler did it?<span style=""> </span>He had opportunity.<span style=""> </span>If <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Bartlett</st1:city></st1:place>’s story matches the one we just heard, then we’ll know Mrs. Scofield was alive at 11 am.<span style=""> </span>And by his own admission, the only other person to visit the office was Watson.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell kept walking, forcing <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> to match his stride.<span style=""> </span>“That leaves two problems.<span style=""> </span>First, as you pointed out, there’s the question of how he did it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That’s your department,” she cut in.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell nodded.<span style=""> </span>“Yes.<span style=""> </span>But more importantly, there’s the fact that Watson came to us, well me, in particular.<span style=""> </span>If he did it, why would he come to me?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“To make himself look innocent, of course.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell shook his head.<span style=""> </span>“No, he was already well on his way to that.<span style=""> </span>He could have just contacted the police.<span style=""> </span>There was no evident cause of death which could be tied to him.<span style=""> </span>And if he used an occult means, then there is likely no evidence that the M.E. could identify.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That means one of two things.<span style=""> </span>One, either it gets chalked up to natural causes, and there is no investigation, or two, you call me and I tell you it’s too late, because more than six hours have elapsed and I can’t raise her soul.<span style=""> </span>Either way, he’s got no incentive to even hint at the occult if he did it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They paused as they reached the car.<span style=""> </span>“Alright then.<span style=""> </span>So our only other suspect has no means, motive <i style="">or</i> opportunity, and an airtight alibi.<span style=""> </span>The Captain’s going to love this.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell couldn’t help but smile.<span style=""> </span>“Forget about the Captain.<span style=""> </span>What about the Chief?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/07/book-2-chapter-12.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-84741882034989689662008-07-08T21:05:00.000-07:002008-07-13T22:58:00.140-07:00Chapter 10<p class="MsoNormal">“Dead?!”<span style=""> </span>Jessica Hill’s eyes widened.<span style=""> </span>Gayle Norton’s eyes narrowed.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell could almost read her thoughts.<span style=""> </span>She was redesigning the cover in her mind.<span style=""> </span>Last interview with Elaine Scofield.<span style=""> </span>But she was also clearly thinking of something else.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What does this have to do with my reporter?” she asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“The information we have indicates that she was one of the last people to see Mrs. Scofield alive,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> replied.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell hung back, leaning against the wall.<span style=""> </span>He was watching Miss Hill while <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Regina</st1:city></st1:place> was talking to Ms. Norton.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, Jessica will be happy to answer any questions you have, so long as they don’t compromise any of her sources.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jessica leaned forward in her seat, nodding.<span style=""> </span>Her hands were now clenched in her lap.<span style=""> </span>She looked nervous, but Dashiell didn’t think it was the nervousness of someone who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.<span style=""> </span>It looked more like the nervousness of someone who felt the police <i style="">thought</i> she had her hand in the cookie jar.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Very well,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> said.<span style=""> </span>“What can you tell me about your interview with Mrs. Scofield?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell crossed his arms across his chest, a silent mass leaning against a wall, eyes boring into Jessica.<span style=""> </span>He was playing bad cop.<span style=""> </span>He was also waggling his fingers under his arm, hiding the gesture with his elbow.<span style=""> </span>It wasn’t a fool proof spell, even when done on a large scale.<span style=""> </span>And as a small cantrip, it was likely to be almost entirely ineffective.<span style=""> </span>But it would sharpen Jessica’s mind on key details and encourage her to speak the truth, if it worked, and it certainly couldn’t hurt.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“We arrived just before 10 o’clock.<span style=""> </span>Research told me that Mrs. Scofield was very punctual,” Jessica began.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“We?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> prompted.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Myself and Carolyn Bartlett, who the magazine had hired for this shoot.”<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> nodded and indicated Jessica should continue.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I interviewed Mrs. Scofield for about 15 minutes, while Carolyn set up, then continued as Carolyn shot her.<span style=""> </span>She likes to work with subjects in their personal spaces, and she likes to shoot them as they talk.<span style=""> </span>Additionally, we’d only been given one hour for the whole affair, so we had to work quickly.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What was the interview about?”<span style=""> </span>It was a classic policeman’s ploy, pretending not to know as much as you did, in order to try and catch a suspect out in a lie.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell didn’t really think she was a suspect, but knew it was never good to jump to conclusions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jessica looked over at Gayle, who nodded.<span style=""> </span>“Go ahead and tell them.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It was about her autobiography,” Jessica replied.<span style=""> </span>“It was due to come out later this summer and this was a teaser interview.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Gayle broke in.<span style=""> </span>“Now, mind you, we don’t go for gossip.<span style=""> </span>But Mrs. Scofield was one of the premier players in <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Washington</st1:place></st1:state> life for the last forty years.<span style=""> </span>Her book is going to be a best seller.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> nodded, as if she didn’t blame Gayle Norton for descending into what was essentially tabloid journalism.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell tried not to smile as he sensed <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Regina</st1:city></st1:place> fighting not to roll her eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What happened next?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Nothing.<span style=""> </span>We concluded the interview around 11.<span style=""> </span>Carolyn got some great shots.<span style=""> </span>We left.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And Mrs. Scofield?<span style=""> </span>How did she seem?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Perfectly fine.<span style=""> </span>She was the picture of health, as far as I could tell.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> nodded and got up to leave.<span style=""> </span>She turned toward Gayle Norton.<span style=""> </span>“Would you mind setting up an appointment with Carolyn Bartlett for us?<span style=""> </span>We’d like to speak to her as well.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Of course,” Gayle replied.<span style=""> </span>She buzzed out to her secretary and began to make arrangements.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> turned back to Jessica.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Just one more thing, Miss Hill.<span style=""> </span>Did Mrs. Scofield show you her manuscript?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jessica’s brow furrowed.<span style=""> </span>“No.<span style=""> </span>We talked about it, but that’s it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Thank you for your time, Miss Hill.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> collected Dashiell with her eyes as she headed out the door.<span style=""> </span>They stopped at the secretary’s desk to get Carolyn Bartlett’s address and a time when it would be convenient to drop by, then they left the offices of Washington Woman.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/07/book-2-chapter-11.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-17850847465117011432008-07-05T22:01:00.000-07:002008-07-08T21:10:50.152-07:00Chapter 9<p class="MsoNormal">Washington Woman was the premiere women’s magazine of the Metro area.<span style=""> </span>And their offices confirmed it.<span style=""> </span>The furnishings were rich and tasteful, if somewhat subdued.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell sat in a comfortable chair, drumming his fingers on a plush armrest.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> sat across from him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A secretary had taken their names and offered them a beverage of their choice.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell had taken a Diet Coke.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> had declined to drink anything.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">His eyes scanned the office, trying to pick out their subject.<span style=""> </span>Washington Woman was modeled on the open air design.<span style=""> </span>A series of desks laid out in a grid, no walls, not even cubicles.<span style=""> </span>There were offices arranged along the outer walls of the building, and in between the offices there was art, heavily representing female artists.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell was no art critic, but he knew a Georgia O’Keefe when he saw one.<span style=""> </span>And he thought he recognized some Frieda Kahlo.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Where do you suppose she is?” he asked <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>“I can’t imagine she’s got someplace else to be, with a deadline coming up.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> glanced around.<span style=""> </span>“I imagine she’s closeted with her editor, wondering why a Metro detective is asking to speak with her.<span style=""> </span>And deciding what it is they’ll say to whatever it is we ask.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The secretary who had first seated them walked back up.<span style=""> </span>“If you’ll follow me, Detective Robbins, Detective Aldridge.<span style=""> </span>Ms. Norton will see you in her office.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Ms. Norton?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> raised an eyebrow.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“She’s the Editor in Chief.<span style=""> </span>She and Miss Hill are awaiting you.”<span style=""> </span>The young woman indicated with her hand the direction Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> should head.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> turned to Dashiell with an “I told you so” look on her face.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell had agreed that <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> should take the lead in this interview.<span style=""> </span>It had nothing to do with <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> being a woman.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> had suggested it because she had a badge and that tended to cut through a lot of bullshit.<span style=""> </span>They also left the secretary with the misimpression that Dashiell was a fellow detective.<span style=""> </span>It would cut down on questions.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They walked through a frosted glass door and saw two women in the office.<span style=""> </span>One, clearly Ms. Norton, stood behind the large desk.<span style=""> </span>Framed images of various covers hung on the walls.<span style=""> </span>Ms. Norton was tall for a woman, nearly six feet, with long blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun.<span style=""> </span>She had black framed glasses perched on her nose, covering blue eyes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Gayle Norton,” she said, extending her hand to <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>, then Dashiell.<span style=""> </span>“What can we do for you, detectives?”<span style=""> </span>She included Miss Hill with a hand gesture.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Jessica Hill was sitting in front of her editor’s desk.<span style=""> </span>She was dressed in a grey skirt suit.<span style=""> </span>She had brown hair, hanging down around her shoulders.<span style=""> </span>Her hands were folded calmly in her lap.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“We need to speak with Miss Hill,” <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Regina</st1:city></st1:place> said.<span style=""> </span>“About her interview with Elaine Scofield this morning.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Has Mrs. Scofield filed a complaint about something?<span style=""> </span>I assure you, my reporter was entirely professional.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Mrs. Scofield hasn’t said anything,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> replied.<span style=""> </span>“She’s dead.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/07/book-2-chapter-10.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-26547063629547690562008-07-01T20:49:00.001-07:002008-07-06T22:21:36.239-07:00Chapter 8<p class="MsoNormal">“I assure you, Mr. Aldridge, Mrs. Scofield was in perfect health,” Watson said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, I’m convinced foul play of some sort is afoot.<span style=""> </span>Otherwise, her soul would be here,” Dashiell explained.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What if her death was natural?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.<span style=""> </span>“Would her soul still hang around?<span style=""> </span>I thought it took a violent end to trap it here.<span style=""> </span>That’s what the ghost stories all say.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, a violent end will prolong a soul’s stay.<span style=""> </span>Sometimes well beyond the six hours that is typically observed.<span style=""> </span>But any soul is able to be summoned for six hours after death in typical circumstances.<span style=""> </span>Clearly, that’s not what we’re dealing with here.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“So what’s your next step, Mr. Aldridge?” Watson asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, the next step is to talk to the last people to see Mrs. Scofield alive.<span style=""> </span>From what you’ve told me, that would be this reporter and photographer from Washington Woman.<span style=""> </span>Who was it that came to interview Mrs. Scofield?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Watson reached into the inside breast pocket of his coat and pulled out a small PDA.<span style=""> </span>“The reporter they sent was named Jessica Hill.<span style=""> </span>The photographer was Carolyn Bartlett.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> let out a low whistle.<span style=""> </span>“Carolyn Bartlett?<span style=""> </span>She’s amazing.<span style=""> </span>She’s done all sorts of work.<span style=""> </span>Shot lots of famous people.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes,” Watson confirmed.<span style=""> </span>“I assumed that’s why the magazine chose her.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Scofield would have insisted on the best.<span style=""> </span>They sidestepped the need for her to ask by hiring Ms. Bartlett in the first place.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell took some quick notes on a small pad.<span style=""> </span>While he was well versed in using computers, for field work he still preferred the old fashioned way.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, Mr. Watson, I don’t think there’s anything else we need from you at this time.<span style=""> </span>I’m going to try and get appointments to meet with Ms. Hill and Ms. Bartlett.<span style=""> </span>Although the second interview could be a bit tricky.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I may be able to help you out there, Dash,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> chimed in.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You think the Captain will let you work with me on this?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“My plate’s pretty clean right now.<span style=""> </span>And you’ve convinced me there’s something funny going on.<span style=""> </span>What with it being Mrs. Scofield, the Chief will want a full investigation, and the Captain will comply.<span style=""> </span>I’ll give him a call on our way to the office of Washington Woman.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/07/book-2-chapter-9.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-18677080228593806932008-06-28T21:35:00.000-07:002008-07-01T20:50:18.471-07:00Chapter 7<p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell stood there, his hand outstretched.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Long seconds ticked by.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Still nothing happened.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell let his hand fall to his side.<span style=""> </span>“I guess we’re too late.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Impossible!” Watson exclaimed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell turned his head to regard the butler, as did <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>“And what makes you say that?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“The spell should work for seven hours, according to my research!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Six, actually,” Dashiell replied.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Watson looked undeterred.<span style=""> </span>“Six then.<span style=""> </span>The point is, Mrs. Scofield was alive six hours ago.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Are you sure?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Of course I am sure.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Scofield had an appointment at 10 am.<span style=""> </span>I assure you the people from Washington Woman would have mentioned if she was dead when they arrived.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell checked his watch.<span style=""> </span>It read 1:17 p.m.<span style=""> </span>“Alright then.<span style=""> </span>We have a case of a soul departed before its nature says it should depart.<span style=""> </span>There must be another explanation.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I can think of one,” Watson said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell looked calmly at Watson, not rising to the bait.<span style=""> </span>Instead, he looked around the room.<span style=""> </span>“Was there, by any chance, a cat in here between the time she died and when we arrived?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> looked puzzled, but Watson just shook his head.<span style=""> </span>“No.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Scofield was allergic to cats.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell looked interested.<span style=""> </span>“How allergic?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What does that matter, Dash?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> inquired.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, if she was deathly allergic, she could have died of anaphylactic shock.<span style=""> </span>And cats have long been believed to carry souls away to the underworld.<span style=""> </span>It would be the perfect crime.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“She sneezed in their presence.<span style=""> </span>That is all.<span style=""> </span>It was annoying, but not life threatening.<span style=""> </span>Besides, does that look like the body of someone who died due to an allergic reaction?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell considered this.<span style=""> </span>“No, it doesn’t,” he conceded.<span style=""> </span>“Then again, it doesn’t look like the body of a woman who died of any unnatural cause.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/07/book-2-chapter-8.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-54757198184057543372008-06-24T22:43:00.000-07:002008-06-29T20:41:17.172-07:00Chapter 6<p class="MsoNormal">The room was immaculate.<span style=""> </span>There was a large, yet undeniably feminine desk backed by a pair of French doors.<span style=""> </span>The walls were lined with bookshelves which contained a variety of reading material and several pictures of Mrs. Scofield and well-known elites.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell counted four, no five, senators as well as three former Presidents and their wives.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Scofield clearly travelled the circles of power.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The desk was dominated by an old-fashioned typewriter.<span style=""> </span>“She typed the manuscript by hand?” Dashiell asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes,” Watson replied.<span style=""> </span>“She did not want details escaping before she was ready and she felt that computers could be hacked too easily.<span style=""> </span>She kept the only copy locked in her desk, except when she was reviewing it.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And that copy is gone now?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It is,” Watson confirmed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell had been moving slowly toward the other large piece of furniture in the room, the chaise lounge.<span style=""> </span>Laying on it, like Cleopatra, was Mrs. Scofield.<span style=""> </span>Her eyes were closed.<span style=""> </span>She looked peaceful.<span style=""> </span>Whatever had caused her death had apparently not caused her any pain.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell walked slowly around the body and chaise, examining for any clues of occult practices.<span style=""> </span>He chanted a cantrip under his breath, designed to detect the presence of any other spells cast by another.<span style=""> </span>He felt nothing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He stopped near Mrs. Scofield’s head.<span style=""> </span>“Which direction is that?” he asked, pointing in a line from her head out the window.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Watson looked up.<span style=""> </span>“West.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell nodded.<span style=""> </span>He’d have preferred north, but you worked with what the scene gave you.<span style=""> </span>And on the plus side, it wasn’t south.<span style=""> </span>That also spoke against someone with occult experience.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He reached into his bag and drew out eight candles.<span style=""> </span>He was going to surround the body with two circles.<span style=""> </span>Five of the candles would represent the points of the pentagram.<span style=""> </span>Four were used to mark the four cardinal directions.<span style=""> </span>He had eight candles because the candle at the top of the pentagram also represented one of the directions, tying the circles together.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell opened the book he had brought and flipped it open to a dog-eared page.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> and Watson stood by the desk, watching.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell begin to chant words from the book as he placed a candle on the floor, near Mrs. Scofield’s head.<span style=""> </span>He walked clockwise around the chaise, mapping out a circle.<span style=""> </span>When he got to a point in line with her right hip, he placed another candle.<span style=""> </span>He then placed one near her feet and one on a line with her left hip.<span style=""> </span>He then moved back to her head.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He then touched the candle near her head and began a different chant.<span style=""> </span>He moved counterclockwise this time.<span style=""> </span>When he reached a spot in line with her left shoulder, he placed another candle.<span style=""> </span>He walked around the circle, placing the other four candles in the pentagram.<span style=""> </span>When he was finished, he touched the candle near her head a third time.<span style=""> </span>You could draw a circle that would intercept all eight candles.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell then went back in his bag.<span style=""> </span>He pulled out a small brass brazier and set up a small tripod.<span style=""> </span>In the brazier, he placed three sprigs of dill.<span style=""> </span>He then took out a taper of cedar wood and lit it with a lighter.<span style=""> </span>Once it was burning, he walked around the circle, clockwise, lighting all eight candles.<span style=""> </span>When they were burning, he placed the taper in among the dill.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A sharp smell began to dominate the air of the room as the herb burned.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell blew gently on the smoke, urging it toward the body.<span style=""> </span>He began a new chant from the book.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The smoke crept along the floor, surrounding the chaise, ringing the body of Mrs. Scofield.<span style=""> </span>It danced up around her head, entering her nostrils.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> gasped as the smoke moved with an apparent intelligence.<span style=""> </span>Watson merely looked on, his staid demeanor betraying no emotion.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell finished chanting.<span style=""> </span>“Elizabeth Mallory Scofield,” he intoned.<span style=""> </span>“Your work here on Earth is not quite finished.<span style=""> </span>I call upon your spirit to come forth, that you may disclose unto us how you died.”<span style=""> </span>He raised his hand imploringly toward the body.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Nothing happened.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/06/book-2-chapter-7.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-25204487662465007972008-06-21T23:21:00.001-07:002008-06-24T22:44:43.558-07:00Chapter 5<p class="MsoNormal">The car drew to a stop and Watson hurried out the door, holding it open for Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>He then led them into the house.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What was in the autobiography?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I am sure I would not know,” Watson replied.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> stopped in her tracks and gave Watson a look.<span style=""> </span>“Come now, Mr. Watson.<span style=""> </span>You might not know the particulars, but you’ve been working here how long?<span style=""> </span>You must have <i style="">some</i> idea.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Watson looked uncomfortable.<span style=""> </span>“Please, Detective.<span style=""> </span>You must understand.<span style=""> </span>There are certain standards someone in my profession has to respect.<span style=""> </span>If word were to get out that I was speaking out of turn…”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell held up a restraining hand.<span style=""> </span>“Mr. Watson, from the sounds of things, if you are correct, this manuscript is probably at the center of it.<span style=""> </span>We understand your position, but if you want us to catch whoever did this, we need some idea of who would gain from your employer’s death.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Watson pursed his lips momentarily, looking for a moment as if he wouldn’t answer.<span style=""> </span>But then his shoulders sagged.<span style=""> </span>“Very well.<span style=""> </span>In any woman of wealth’s life, there are bound to be skeletons in the closet.<span style=""> </span>But of course, Mrs. Scofield was not born to wealth.<span style=""> </span>Mr. Thomas Scofield shocked his family when he chose to marry her instead of another member of the upper classes.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Since she was not raised to this world, she had more…’history’ than other women who typically inhabit the role Mrs. Scofield inhabited.<span style=""> </span>From what little I heard of her discussions, she was being quite candid in the book.<span style=""> </span>It did not appear that she was holding anything back.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And who knew about this book?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Quite a few people.<span style=""> </span>The family all knew of course.<span style=""> </span>And the publisher.<span style=""> </span>And then members of the press.<span style=""> </span>That is why Washington Woman was coming to interview her.<span style=""> </span>It was a teaser interview and photo shoot to promote the book.<span style=""> </span>It was to be the first of several such interviews, so it appeared that many in the media knew it was forthcoming.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And was she just candid about her past?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I am not sure what you mean, Detective Robbins.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Was she candid about the members of the family?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> pressed.<span style=""> </span>“Some of them might not be too thrilled to see their dirty laundry aired for the world to see.<span style=""> </span>If even a quarter of the rumors about some of the children are true, well, that’s a motive for murder right there.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Somewhere in the middle of the interrogation, the group had resumed walking.<span style=""> </span>Suddenly, they stopped outside a set of thick oaken doors with large brass handles.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Inside is Mrs. Scofield, just as I found her.<span style=""> </span>So far as I know, the only people to set foot in this room today are Mrs. Scofield, myself and the reporter and photographer.<span style=""> </span>I have left the body as undisturbed as possible.”<br /><br />Dashiell nodded.<span style=""> </span>“Very well then.<span style=""> </span>Let’s go in.<span style=""> </span>Time’s a wasting.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At this prompt, Watson threw open the door.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/06/book-2-chapter-6.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-15204272690517647562008-06-17T20:35:00.001-07:002008-06-21T23:22:20.828-07:00Chapter 4<p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell and <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Regina</st1:city></st1:place> followed Mr. Watson down the stairs and saw a large black town car idling near the curb.<span style=""> </span>He opened the rear door and held it open for them.<span style=""> </span>It appeared to be a natural movement for him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell and <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Regina</st1:city></st1:place> entered the rear of the automobile and Mr. Watson joined them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Do you mind if Detective Robbins joins us?” Dashiell asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Not at all.<span style=""> </span>If I am correct, it will speed things along.<span style=""> </span>Additionally, she can serve as a witness to the summoning.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The car pulled away from the curb and into D.C.’s noon-time traffic.<span style=""> </span>“So tell me, Mr. Watson.<span style=""> </span>Exactly which member of the Scofield family passed away?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It was Mrs. Scofield,” Watson said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Which Mrs. Scofield?” <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Regina</st1:city></st1:place> prompted, knowing there were three current Mrs. Scofield’s.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I am sorry, Detective.<span style=""> </span>Within the household, only Mrs. Elaine Scofield, the matriarch, was referred to as Mrs. Scofield.<span style=""> </span>The others were known by more familiar names.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell whistled.<span style=""> </span>Elaine Scofield was the head of the family’s charitable trust.<span style=""> </span>She sat on the Board of the Children’s Hospital, was a donor to Feed the Homeless and was renowned for her work with various charities around the city.<span style=""> </span>A death within the Scofield family was noteworthy.<span style=""> </span>The death of the matriarch was sure to be national news.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Does anyone else know about this?” Dashiell asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No one.<span style=""> </span>I felt it best to be discreet in this matter, especially until we know for sure what happened.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell nodded, somewhat relieved.<span style=""> </span>Of course, the fact that the family was consulting him was another reason to keep this matter quiet.<span style=""> </span>Many would look askance at the use of an occult detective.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What makes you suspect foul play?” Dashiell inquired.<span style=""> </span>“If memory serves, Mrs. Scofield was of a fairly advanced age.<span style=""> </span>In her late seventies, wasn’t she?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes,” Watson confirmed.<span style=""> </span>“However, she visited with a doctor just last month and he assured her she was in perfect health.<span style=""> </span>I myself saw her just this morning when serving her breakfast and she looked quite vigorous.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And what did her morning consist of?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It was a full schedule.<span style=""> </span>She spent a great deal of time on the phone with various charities.<span style=""> </span>She had a photo shoot for Washington Woman magazine and then spent time alone in her study working on her autobiography.<span style=""> </span>The publisher was expecting a copy of several chapters next week.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What happened?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I went to check on her, to inquire what she wanted for lunch.<span style=""> </span>I found her laying on the chaise lounge.<span style=""> </span>I tried to wake her, but to no avail.<span style=""> </span>I checked her vital signs and found nothing.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That still doesn’t explain why you sought me out,” Dashiell said.<span style=""> </span>“People die suddenly all the time.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“A fair point, Mr. Aldridge,” Watson said.<span style=""> </span>The car was pulling into a long driveway in front of a very large house.<span style=""> </span>“However, when I looked around the office I realized that the manuscript Mrs. Scofield had been working on was gone.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/06/book-2-chapter-5.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-86855998519632482032008-06-14T20:00:00.001-07:002008-06-17T20:36:41.220-07:00Chapter 3<p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> stifled a scoff as the impeccably dressed man made this statement, but she noticed that Dashiell merely looked thoughtful.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“How long ago was the body discovered?” Dashiell asked.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“About an hour ago.<span style=""> </span>I would have been here sooner, but I needed to check your credentials,” the man replied.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell didn’t seem perturbed by this.<span style=""> </span>“I take it they checked out.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I am here, am I not?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell nodded and turned to walk back towards <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>“Very well.<span style=""> </span>I just need to collect a few supplies.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He skirted past <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> into his messy office.<span style=""> </span>He stepped over to a bookshelf and ran his fingers along the spines of the books there.<span style=""> </span>He stopped on one, checked the title and pulled it out.<span style=""> </span>He then moved over behind the desk and grabbed a small black attaché case that was there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He opened the book automatically to a page and scanned it quickly.<span style=""> </span>He checked the case, rummaging around a bit.<span style=""> </span>He placed the book within the case.<span style=""> </span>He then turned to the desk and opened the left hand drawer.<span style=""> </span>He pulled out some chalk and a candle, placing them in the case as well.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He then turned and walked toward the door.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> watched him throughout the whole process.<span style=""> </span>She had a skeptical look on her face.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Dash, can you really summon a dead woman’s soul?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I guess we’re going to find out.”<span style=""> </span>He walked back into the main room as he said this.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The well-dressed man overheard the exchange.<span style=""> </span>“Are you saying you might not be able to do this, Mr. Aldridge?<span style=""> </span>I was led to believe….”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell waved a hand to cut him off.<span style=""> </span>“Don’t worry.<span style=""> </span>It’s been a while since I’ve done it, but I have successfully raised spirits in the past.<span style=""> </span>But you’re right about the time constraints.<span style=""> </span>The soul only remains with the body for a set number of hours.<span style=""> </span>After that, I am powerless to do anything.<span style=""> </span>Assuming the victim died shortly before you came looking for me, I should be able to call it forth.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The man nodded and turned toward the outer door to Dashiell’s office.<span style=""> </span>“Then let us hurry, Mr. Aldridge.”<span style=""> </span>He opened the door and swept into the hallway, followed by Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>“Pardon my lack of manners, Mr. Aldridge, but I have been in a hurry.<span style=""> </span>My name is Charles Watson.<span style=""> </span>I work for the Scofield family.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> exchanged looks.<span style=""> </span>The Scofields were one of the richest families in the city.<span style=""> </span>There were Scofields on the board of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Kennedy</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Center</st1:placetype></st1:place>, the Smithsonian and a variety of private foundations.<span style=""> </span>They regularly hosted the crème-de-la-crème of the political elite in D.C.<span style=""> </span>If Mr. Watson was right, this was going to be a media nightmare.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/06/book-2-chapter-4.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-9874292365009481322008-06-10T20:54:00.001-07:002008-06-14T20:00:50.738-07:00Chapter 2<p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell absorbed this.<span style=""> </span>“You believe?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes,” the man replied.<span style=""> </span>He didn’t appear like he was going to add any more.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Wouldn’t that be a matter for the police?” Dashiell asked, aware that <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> was listening in.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It would, Mr. Aldridge, if I thought they’d rule this case a murder.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You have reason to doubt they would?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> piped up from the hall.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“May I ask to whom I am speaking?”<span style=""> </span>The man’s manners were as impeccable as his cleanly pressed suit.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That’s Detective Robbins, DCPD Homicide.<span style=""> </span>You can see why she might be interested,” Dashiell replied.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The man nodded.<span style=""> </span>“Very well, Detective.<span style=""> </span>What was your question?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I asked,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> replied, “if you had reason to doubt the police would rule this a murder.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I do.<span style=""> </span>A cursory examination of the body shows no evidence of foul play.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, there are still plenty of ways that someone could be murdered.<span style=""> </span>If you’re that concerned, an autopsy would reveal if any poisons or other non-obvious methods were utilized,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That would take too long, Detective.<span style=""> </span>As I mentioned earlier, I’ve been led to believe that time is of the essence.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And why is that?” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> inquired.<span style=""> </span>“The body’s not going to get more dead.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“May I explain on the way?”<span style=""> </span>He directed the question to Dashiell.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What is it you expect me to do?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, Mr. Aldridge, if I’m correct, I’d like you to summon the soul to tell us who killed her.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/06/book-2-chapter-3.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-49701628896366071412008-06-07T20:37:00.000-07:002008-06-10T20:55:01.962-07:00Chapter 1<p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell G. Aldridge was a big slab of a man.<span style=""> </span>He sat in a large chair behind a large wooden desk in his second floor walkup in downtown <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Washington</st1:city>, <st1:state st="on">D.C.</st1:state></st1:place><span style=""> </span>Across from him sat a petite redhead, Detective Regina Robbins, DCPD.<span style=""> </span>They were sharing Chinese food and shooting the breeze.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“So then,” Dashiell said, “we hear this scream, and my partner slaps his hands over his ears yelling out ‘Banshee!’”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> laughed.<span style=""> </span>“He didn’t!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell shook his head.<span style=""> </span>“He did.<span style=""> </span>He fell to the floor, curled up into a little ball and cried like the world was ending.<span style=""> </span>Good God, it was like he forgot it was a training exercise.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell went to set the box of General Tso’s chicken he was holding and knocked a fork to the floor.<span style=""> </span>He bent over and picked the fork up, examining it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You expecting anyone, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">She shook her head, wiping her eyes and trying to get her laughter back under control.<span style=""> </span>“No, Dash.<span style=""> </span>Why?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well then, it looks like I have a client coming to visit.<span style=""> </span>A man.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As he finished speaking, there was a knock at the door.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“One of these days, Dash, you’re going to have to tell me how you do that,” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> said with a smile.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“It’s fairly simple really,” he explained, rising to his feet and heading toward the front of the converted apartment.<span style=""> </span>“It’s all in the silverware.”<span style=""> </span>With this cryptic remark, he walked into the foyer and opened the front door to his office.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br />“Good afternoon, sir.<span style=""> </span>How may I help you?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell examined the man standing in the open doorway and one word came to mind – polished.<span style=""> </span>The man was impeccably dressed, with a crisp white shirt, dark blue tie, navy slacks and polished brown shoes with a matching belt.<span style=""> </span>He looked like he had just stepped out of a Brooks Brothers catalogue.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“You are Dashiell Aldridge, the occult detective?”<span style=""> </span>He had a slight <st1:place st="on">New England</st1:place> accent.<span style=""> </span>Old money, thought Dashiell.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I am, sir.<span style=""> </span>Would you care to come inside?” Dashiell stepped back and beckoned toward the interior and his office.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> had stepped into the door, looking down the short hallway at the man in the door.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“There’s no time, Mr. Aldridge.<span style=""> </span>I would like to engage your services and from what I understand, time is of the essence.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell’s eyebrows raised.<span style=""> </span>“And what sort of case do you have?<span style=""> </span>Missing person?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Nothing so mundane, Mr. Aldridge.<span style=""> </span>I believe there has been a murder.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/06/book-2-chapter-2.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-16405194626712515912008-05-25T12:07:00.000-07:002008-05-25T12:09:51.512-07:00The End - For NowThis is the end of Superstition - Book 1 - Something Wicked This Way Comes<br /><br />I will be taking two weeks off, while I plot the next adventure of Dashiell and Regina. Please check back on Saturday, June 7, for chapter 1 in the next book.<br /><br />Thanks for reading - I hope you've enjoyed it.<br /><br />In the meantime, please feel free to check out my other on-going project, <a href="http://anempireoflaw.blogspot.com/2008/05/book-1-forward.html">An Empire of Law</a>.Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-61112115838813837692008-05-24T21:55:00.000-07:002008-05-25T12:06:21.021-07:00Chapter 30<p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell was frozen in a moment of silent horror as that gaping maw came closer and closer to his exposed fist, held out for feeding on, as if the now dead zombie clamped onto his arm was holding it out for its still moving companion.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Suddenly, Dashiell heard a loud report and the zombie’s head was ripped off at the jaw line.<span style=""> </span>Its lower jawbone, filled with rotting teeth, hit the ground in front of his knee, unmoving.<span style=""> </span>He said a silent thanks to the Gods and to the police sniper hidden out of sight who had remembered to aim for the head.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell wasted no more time, prying the dead hand off his arm and regaining his feet.<span style=""> </span>Shots were ringing out as the snipers opened up on the undead and Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:City> joined in, whenever a walking corpse got close enough to pose a threat.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As the number of undead diminished, so did the fog surrounding Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:City>.<span style=""> </span>They stood back to back, facing out into the thinning mists.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br />“What the hell happened Dash?<span style=""> </span>You threw salt in that thing’s face and it just kept coming.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:City>,” Dashiell replied calmly, shooting another zombie through the forehead, “apparently these zombies don’t subscribe to Haitian beliefs.<span style=""> </span>It was worth a try.<span style=""> </span>But I didn’t really expect it to work.<span style=""> </span>At that point, I was desperate.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And what about the flame?<span style=""> </span>It went out at pretty much the perfect time.<span style=""> </span>Did you do that?”<span style=""> </span>By now the numbers of undead were dwindling.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“In a manner of speaking.<span style=""> </span>One of the last calls I made tonight was to a friend of mine.<span style=""> </span>I asked him to drop by the local terminal for the gas company and cut the feed to the cemetery.<span style=""> </span>Apparently, he got past security.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“He was cutting it a little close, don’t you think, Dash?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well, he doesn’t exactly have access to the place.<span style=""> </span>Also, I didn’t want him to cut the gas too early, or else the witches wouldn’t be here.<span style=""> </span>They needed to be involved in the spell.<span style=""> </span>Although I’ll admit, it was a little close for comfort.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">With a final crack from a sniper’s rifle, the last body hit the ground.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell looked around.<span style=""> </span>The plateau was littered with corpses, and two very scared women laying on thr ground.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:City> went over and cuffed them, then called for an EMT team when she saw that the older witch was apparently covered with burned flesh.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Dashiell, what the hell did you throw at this woman, napalm?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Holy water actually.<span style=""> </span>Not sure if it was the holy aspect, or just the water that did it though.<span style=""> </span>She should be okay, though.<span style=""> </span>The burns don’t look that bad.<span style=""> </span>Besides, she’s not my biggest concern.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“She’s not?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No.<span style=""> </span>I’m much more worried about the one who got away.<span style=""> </span>From what I could tell, she was the leader of this coven.<span style=""> </span>She took the lead in the spell and was clearly the most experienced at wielding magic.<span style=""> </span>And she’s still out there, somewhere.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I got a pretty decent look at her face, when I bluffed the younger one.<span style=""> </span>I’ll have the department put out an APB on her and I’ll pass it on to the FBI,” <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Regina</st1:City></st1:place> said.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“We’ll have to hope that’ll work.<span style=""> </span>Although something tells me, we’ll be seeing her again.<span style=""> </span>At any rate, we’re not likely to find her tonight.<span style=""> </span>Think you can handle the clean up, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:City>?<span style=""> </span>It appears my role in this affair is over.<span style=""> </span>I think I’ll leave the rest to the real cops.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:City> smiled at his sarcasm.<span style=""> </span>“Get out of here, Dash.<span style=""> </span>And thanks for your help.<span style=""> </span>We’d never have solved this one without you.<span style=""> </span>I promise, I’ll make sure the Captain knows how essential you were to the investigation.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Thanks <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:City>.”<span style=""> </span>He turned to go when she called out to him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Hey Dash!<span style=""> </span>Don’t you want your bead back?”<span style=""> </span>She toyed with the item in question.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Keep it, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:City>.<span style=""> </span>I think you’re going to need it.”</p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-26909612371128457162008-05-20T20:06:00.001-07:002008-05-25T12:06:56.748-07:00Chapter 29<p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>’s head snapped up as Dashiell said this and turned to follow the aim of his gun.<span style=""> </span>A mist had sprung up from the damp ground, cloaking the region in a gray fog.<span style=""> </span>There was virtually no light as the fog rose to blot out the stars.<span style=""> </span>With no moon visible, that left Dashiell and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> in an eerily dark world, where sound was magnified.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>,” Dashiell whispered, his voice echoing loudly, “can your snipers see through this?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Depends Dash,” came the reply, sounding farther away than he knew <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> to be.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“On what?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“On whether or not zombies show up on night vision goggles.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The whole time, Dashiell had been scanning the scene with his eyes, looking for the telltale signs of movement in the mists.<span style=""> </span>And he was straining his ears to try and isolate the shambling sound he could hear coming from all around them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Stay where you are, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>I’m going to try and offer us some protection.”<span style=""> </span>So saying, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of salt.<span style=""> </span>He dribbled it out upon the ground, walking in front of where <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> was last standing and then circling around a large area.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Salt was a universal spell component, especially in circles of protection.<span style=""> </span>And since salt was supposed to send zombies back to their graves, he had high hopes it would repel them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He was about halfway through the circle, behind <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>, when a ghostly hand reached out of the mists and clamped onto his arm.<span style=""> </span>Its grip was like cold steel, even through the protective spells woven into the jacket.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell cursed loudly, causing <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> to spin around with a cry.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>, watch your back!”<span style=""> </span>The mists had started to swirl, revealing a circle of undead figures in various states of decomposition closing in on the pair.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell turned his attention back to the zombie that had latched onto him, bringing his gun up, pressing it into the soft, melting flesh of the forehead and pulling the trigger.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The thing’s head exploded in a fine grey spray and it fell heavily to the ground.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell’s exaltation was quickly quashed as he noted that the iron grip did not let up with the death of the zombie’s mind.<span style=""> </span>Instead, it reverted back to its more natural state, the metacarpals still locked firmly on his forearm.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The unexpected weight jerked him off balance and he flailed his gun arm wildly to keep his balance.<span style=""> </span>He failed and went down on his left knee.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Shots rang out from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>’s gun as she rotated checking her nine, twelve and three o’clock, covering her half of the circle, sending a variety of the undead back to their graves.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell slammed the wrist of the hand holding his arm with the butt of his gun, but had to break off as another zombie reared up out of the mists.<span style=""> </span>The zombie was moving its mouth toward his left hand, open wide, a rotting stench flowing from its gaping maw.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">With a flick of his wrist, Dashiell hurled the last of the salt in his fist into the creature’s face, a good deal landing in that tooth-filled chasm.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The creature kept coming.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/05/book-1-chapter-30.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-42705012331982738982008-05-17T19:51:00.001-07:002008-05-20T20:07:14.694-07:00Chapter 28<p class="MsoNormal">Pandemonium reigned on the small plateau.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell had been waiting for this, and had pulled out a second vial of holy water.<span style=""> </span>He took a shot and threw the vial as hard as he could in the direction where he had seen the crone.<span style=""> </span>“The power of Christ compels you!” He shouted after it.<span style=""> </span>He heard it break, followed by an agonized scream, whether because the witch was Christian or had just watched the Wizard of Oz too many times, he couldn’t be sure.<span style=""> </span>But he was fairly sure that she was out of the fight, at least for now.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He felt an impact on his side as his coat absorbed a spell that had been hurled at him.<span style=""> </span>It shook him a bit, but had no other effects.<span style=""> </span>His gun was still in one hand, but he was afraid to fire blindly, knowing <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> was somewhere on the other side of the circle.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He heard a strange voice speaking in low tones, off in the direction where he had last seen Hecate.<span style=""> </span>Whether it was her, or one of the two witches still in the game, he couldn’t be sure.<span style=""> </span>His coat probably couldn’t withstand the attack of the demi-goddess, at least, not at full force.<span style=""> </span>But he and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> had disrupted the spell.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hecate was still here, at least in some form.<span style=""> </span>And that meant that she could exercise her powers.<span style=""> </span>He had to get rid of her.<span style=""> </span>He knew he didn’t have the power to banish her, but she also wasn’t fully manifested on this plane.<span style=""> </span>That meant she was unlikely to be here by her own force.<span style=""> </span>Instead, she was tied to this place by the spell.<span style=""> </span>So he had to break the tie.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He had been moving the entire time he was thinking, making sure not to be in the place where the last spell had hit him.<span style=""> </span>He had lost track of where everyone was, and an eerie silence descended on the scene.<span style=""> </span>It was broken only by the sound of the still bubbling cauldron.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And that was the key.<span style=""> </span>He turned and charged the center of the circle, bending low and putting his shoulder into the side, just under the lip, lifting and heaving at the same time.<span style=""> </span>The heat of the cast iron burned, but the coat was protected against elements as well as spells, so it kept him from being scalded.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The huge pot raised off of two of its pegged feet and paused in the air as Dashiell’s initial burst of power halted.<span style=""> </span>The cauldron was huge and full to the brim of the ingredients the witches had utilized in their spell.<span style=""> </span>Some of the liquid slopped over the edge.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell braced himself and pushed harder, until he crossed the invisible line where the weight of the brew caused it to capsize, spilling out over the ground, creating a slippery, chunky mess on the granite.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">His eyes had adjusted to the starlit darkness as he was doing this and he saw three feminine figures outlined against the horizon, all within a few feet of him.<span style=""> </span>One of them was holding a gun, and he knew that to be <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He raised his gun to take aim at the remaining two figures.<span style=""> </span>As the vile mixture of plant, animal and human remains washed over their feet, one of them wavered and became translucent, before vanishing entirely.<span style=""> </span>So much for Hecate.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He turned his weapon toward the final figure.<span style=""> </span>She was weaving her hands and Dashiell thought he could make out a look of hatred on that middle-aged face.<span style=""> </span>Then, her face turned toward <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> and Dashiell was moving as her hand shot out.<span style=""> </span>He threw himself into the air between the two women and again felt the force of a spell being absorbed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Dash!”<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> cried out as he hit the ground, rolling to look for the witch.<span style=""> </span>She was nowhere to be seen.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> ran up and placed a hand on his shoulder.<span style=""> </span>“Dash!<span style=""> </span>Are you okay?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He sat up, rubbing his side where it had hit the ground.<span style=""> </span>“I’m okay <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>My coat took most of the blast.<span style=""> </span>Are you okay?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’m fine, Dash.”<span style=""> </span>She turned her gun towards the two figures laying prone on the ground.<span style=""> </span>“Looks like we caught two of them.<span style=""> </span>Don’t know what happened to the others.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell was just turning to look at their captives when he heard a new sound, coming from the East.<span style=""> </span>It was an odd, shuffling sound.<span style=""> </span>It sent a chill through him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He quickly got to his feet, and checked his weapon, to make sure it was ready to fire.<span style=""> </span>“<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>, we have company,” he said quietly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“And remember….aim for the head.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/05/book-1-chapter-29.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-19184476758922068532008-05-13T22:48:00.000-07:002008-05-17T19:52:44.125-07:00Chapter 27<p class="MsoNormal">Oh shit, Dashiell thought.<span style=""> </span>They had a circle of protection surrounding them.<span style=""> </span>Of course.<span style=""> </span>How could he be so stupid?<span style=""> </span>He should have expected it.<span style=""> </span>He shook himself, recovering from the hard knock as he ran into that shield.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As his vision cleared, he saw for the first time the fourth figure <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> had spotted.<span style=""> </span>At this point, it was a hazy outline, though definitely of feminine shape.<span style=""> </span>As Dashiell watched, it started to solidify.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He heard the witches speaking.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then, the witch with her back to him, spoke.<span style=""> </span>“Cool it with a baboon’s blood, Then the charm is firm and good.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">That was the end of the spell.<span style=""> </span>They were through at least one recitation, and based on the solidity of the fourth figure, it was likely the second.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The young girl spoke up.<span style=""> </span>“Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> finally caught up to Dashiell, weapon still drawn.<span style=""> </span>“Are you alright?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Yes.<span style=""> </span>But we have problems.<span style=""> </span>They have a circle of protection up.<span style=""> </span>I can’t get through.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well can’t you cast a spell, or something?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No.<span style=""> </span>The circle is specifically designed to prevent interference of a magical nature.<span style=""> </span>There’s no way to get through.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Well this isn’t magic.”<span style=""> </span>She raised her gun, taking aim between two of the witches.<span style=""> </span>Before Dashiell could stop her, she squeezed off a round.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He dove to the ground as the shell ricocheted off the air, skittering around to the side and embedding into the granite where Kennedy’s “Ask not what your country” quote was carved.<span style=""> </span>Chips of rock exploded upward.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Jesus Christ!” <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> yelled.<span style=""> </span>She had hit the deck as well.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I tried telling you, <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>.<span style=""> </span>We can’t get through.”<span style=""> </span>He had noticed something though.<span style=""> </span>As he dove to the ground, the youngest witch had flinched.<span style=""> </span>She didn’t have full faith in the spell.<span style=""> </span>That might be his way in.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the chanting.<span style=""> </span>“Walk around behind that young lady, and shoot her in the back of the head.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> turned her eyes to him, looking confused.<span style=""> </span>Turning toward <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city>, he mouthed the words “Trust me.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell reached into his cloak and pulled out one of the vials of holy water, passing it to her.<span style=""> </span>“Be sure to sprinkle this down the barrel on the chambered round.<span style=""> </span>It’s a special potion of dispelling.<span style=""> </span>It’ll get through the circle.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It was all bullshit, but he was betting the girl didn’t know that.<span style=""> </span>And the other witches couldn’t tell her to have faith without disputing the spell.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> hustled around the circle, coming to a stop behind the young witch.<span style=""> </span>Dashiell watched her eyes go wide again, unable to see what was going on behind her and unwilling to turn.<span style=""> </span>The witches were entering the last round of “Double doubles”.<span style=""> </span>There was a brief pause in the chant and he heard <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> cock her weapon dramatically.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Two things happened in the next instant.<span style=""> </span>First, the young witch threw herself to the ground crying out and second, the flame beneath the bubbling cauldron suddenly snuffed out, plunging the area into darkness.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/05/book-1-chapter-28.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1817132180553243210.post-88240942030974058272008-05-10T23:17:00.000-07:002008-05-14T15:47:29.011-07:00Chapter 26<p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell swore under his breath.<span style=""> </span>“Then we may be too late.<span style=""> </span>But we have to hurry, just in case.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He started heading toward the memorial flame, running quickly while trying to keep low and out of sight.<span style=""> </span>Unfortunately, the cemetery wasn’t built for stealth.<span style=""> </span>He had to hope that they were too involved in casting their spell or talking to the demi-goddess to notice him and <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> rushing up the hill.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">He turned his head slightly and saw <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> mirroring his movements.<span style=""> </span>She had spread out about ten yards to his right.<span style=""> </span>That was smart.<span style=""> </span>There was no way a spell from the witches could get both of them at the same time.<span style=""> </span>And Hecate would be more likely to raise the dead to deal with them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As he approached the hill, he heard the witches chanting in unison.<span style=""> </span>He breathed a small sigh of relief.<span style=""> </span>Apparently they weren’t done with the spell.<span style=""> </span>What <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> had spotted must just be the first impressions of Hecate on this plane.<span style=""> </span>Still, the spell wasn’t that long to begin with.<span style=""> </span>Hopefully, they’d go through the ritual of saying it three times.<span style=""> </span>After all, Hecate was a threefold goddess.<span style=""> </span>But he couldn’t count on it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dashiell made a decision.<span style=""> </span>He’d charge them.<span style=""> </span>Yes, they’d notice him, but if it disrupted them from chanting, then he’d spoil the spell.<span style=""> </span>And he was wearing his jacket.<span style=""> </span>He pelted towards the plateau where the witches stood, feet pounding lightly on the payment.<span style=""> </span><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Regina</st1:place></st1:city> must have thought he was insane, Dashiell reflected.<span style=""> </span>Well, maybe he was.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As he rounded the last corner, he got his first glimpse of the three witches.<span style=""> </span>They couldn’t have been more different from each other.<span style=""> </span>The first was old, Dashiell guessed her age around 70.<span style=""> </span>She had flowing white hair down to her shoulders and she stood in profile to him.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The second witch was young, maybe all of 20.<span style=""> </span>She had slick black hair and thick eye shadow.<span style=""> </span>If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was a goth poseur like so many girls her age.<span style=""> </span>But he could feel the power radiating from the bubbling cauldron between the witches.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The third witch had her back to him, but years working as an investigator told him that, by the way she carried herself, she was of middle years.<span style=""> </span>Besides, it fit the pattern.<span style=""> </span>These three were following all of the old legends, and Hecate was often pictured as having three forms, the maid, the mother and the crone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The eyes of the youngest witch widened as she saw Dashiell run up upon them, but she didn’t break her chant.<span style=""> </span>Oh well, he’d have to do it for them.<span style=""> </span>He took a step towards the witch with her back to him, fully prepared to yank her out of the circle forcefully.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">At least, that was the plan.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">When he got within three paces of her, he slammed into an invisible wall.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://superstitionstory.blogspot.com/2008/05/book-1-chapter-27.html">Next></a><br /></p>Allan T Michaelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02293093156397387385noreply@blogger.com2