M Sellars - Harm none

“None taken. He asked if I would handle it,” he explained as he sat down, absently brushing his disheveled grey hairs back into place. “I wanted to come by and deliver the lasagna anyway.”

Felicity was working at preparing a pitcher of herb tea, and I interposed myself between her and the cabinet as she strained to reach an upper shelf. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll finish this up.”

“I’m fine,” she objected.

“I’m sure you are,” I rejoined. “But I’ve got this really intense desire to make tea, so why don’t you let me do it?”

I’m sure she would have argued more had Detective Deckert not been there. Since he was, however, she quietly resigned herself to the fact that I was going to coddle her for a while and joined him at the table. I had scarcely managed to begin transferring the sun-brewed liquid into the ice-filled pitcher when our guest spoke up.

“This is probably none of my business,” he blurted hesitantly. “But you two are pretty close with Ben and his wife, aren’t you?”

“Definitely,” I answered. “Ben was my Best Man. We’ve known the two of them forever.”

“Why do you ask?” Felicity looked over at me as she spoke, then back to Detective Deckert. “Is something wrong?”

I continued what I was doing but kept my attention on the conversation.

“You could say that,” he sighed. “Like I said, it’s probably none of my business, but I couldn’t help overhearing him on the phone last night… Then he asked me to come over here when you called a little while ago.” He nodded his head at Felicity.

“I noticed that he was a little distant,” she agreed. “What did you overhear?”

“Well,” he explained, “I only heard one side of the conversation, but I got the gist of it.”

“He and Allison are having problems because of the hours he’s been putting in, right?” I volunteered.

“They’ve got a problem all right,” he told us. “But his work schedule isn’t it. Near as I can figure, Ben’s wife blames him for Felicity’s miscarriage.”

“She what?!” I exclaimed.

“Why would Allison do that?!” Felicity appealed.

“Hey,” Deckert held up his hands defensively, “from what I overheard, he agrees with her.”

It’s not his fault,” Felicity voiced adamantly. “I’m the one that made the choice to walk through that door. He had nothing to do with it.”

“You know that, and I know that,” Deckert nodded, “but he still feels responsible. He seems to think that if he never got you two involved in this investigation, you never would have gotten hurt.”

“That’s just plain ridiculous,” I stated. “All he did was ask me the difference between a Pentacle and a Pentagram because he’d seen this hanging around my neck.” I hooked a finger beneath the silver chain and lifted the small pendant from behind my shirt. “Other than that, I volunteered. Hell, he was against the idea of me getting involved in the first place. I had to talk him into it.”

Deckert shrugged and echoed my sentiments, “I know, I know, but he’s your friend, and he feels responsible for you.” He let out a long sigh. “Shit, it’s part of being a cop. You feel responsible for everyone.”

At that moment, Detective Carl Deckert looked far older than his years. It was clear that he and Benjamin Storm had been cut from the same cloth when it came to loyalty to their friends and loved ones-when it came to loyalty to their careers as well. In a way, I felt I was seeing my best friend’s future being played out before me by the man seated at my kitchen table.

“We need to have a talk with those two,” Felicity ventured. “We’ve got to get this straightened out.”

I had finished preparing the mint tea and placed the full pitcher along with glasses on the table then slid in next to my wife. “Any ideas on how we should do that?”

“We need to speak to them when they’re together, for one,” she posed.

“Sure, but that’s going to be a little hard to accomplish with this investigation going on. Ben’s hours are a little unpredictable right now.”

Detective Deckert cleared his throat, and we both turned our attention to him. “I doubt that’ll be a problem. He should be home at a decent hour tonight.”

“Why’s that?” I queried.

“That’s another piece of news I need to give you.” He looked distantly out the window of the atrium then back at us. The deep furrow in his brow revealed the fact that he was struggling with exactly how to go about it.

“R.J. is being charged with the murders, isn’t he?” Felicity intoned flatly.

“Not yet, but don’t be surprised if it happens within the next day or so,” he echoed. “For the murder of Ellen Gray at least. We got the warrant and searched his place early this morning.”

“What did you find?” I wasn’t sure I wanted him to answer the question.

“Black and white candles. A lot of ‘em,” he detailed. “And a set of artists pastels among other things.”

“There has to be some kind of logical explanation.” I shook my head. “What about the dirk, Ariel’s athame. Did you find that?”

“The knife?” he echoed, shaking his head. “No. Not yet, but we’re still looking.”

“You’ve got the wrong person, Carl,” Felicity implored. “I can’t give you tangible proof, but I just know R.J. isn’t guilty.”

“I know you two think he’s innocent, but so far, the evidence points to the opposite. I think you might be backing the wrong horse.”

“The candles don’t mean a thing,” I declared. “If you searched our house, you’d find a ton of candles. Witches use them for everything, so we have a tendency to buy them in bulk.”

“Especially if you find them on sale,” Felicity added. “And as far as the pastels go, maybe he’s an artist.”

“Since you mention it,” Deckert returned, “he did take a few art classes at the community college, and guess who his instructor was…one Karen Lewis, better known to us by her married name, Karen Barnes.”

“He knows all three victims,” I muttered to myself.

“Looks that way,” he continued. “So if you add that in with the candles, the pastels, and his familiarity with your religion…”

Neither of us had a convincing argument to offer. We sat glumly, firm in our belief that the young man was innocent of the crimes but completely unable to prove it.

“Well, what did HE have to say?” Felicity almost demanded.

“We haven’t talked to him about it yet.”

“Well then, he might have a logical explanation for some of the things you found,” I expressed. “You won’t know until you ask.”

“Look,” Deckert intoned after a long pause. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you all this, but to be honest, I don’t understand why you two are so sure this kid’s innocent. Hell, from what I understand, you just met him a few days ago.”

“That’s true, but at the risk of sounding cliche,” I explained, “it’s a Witch thing. It’s just a gut feeling.”

“What about Devon Johnston?” My wife was on a mission, and she wasn’t about to give up. “We haven’t heard anything yet. Isn’t he still a suspect?”

“He pulled through, but he’s gonna be laid up for a good long time,” he answered. “We talked to him this morning, and Ben checked out his alibi. Except for killing a dog, the assault on you, and a couple of trespassing charges, he’s in the clear.” Once again he stared past the small jungle of potted plants and out through the atrium window. After a short pause, he let out a sigh of resignation and then continued in a fatherly tone, “Trust me, I’d like to believe you guys, but like I said, there’s a lot of evidence, even if it is circumstantial. It’s the fingerprint you found on the candle that really clinches it.”