The Witches Ladder Read online

  “Yep. Just perfect.” Charlie nodded and took a step back.

  “I'll text you later, okay?”

  “Sure. Later.” Charlie turned quickly and headed down the stairs, stomping on every step until she reached the bottom. She got into her car, put the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared to life. One hand gripped the steering wheel while the other gripped the gearshift so tightly her knuckles whitened. Her mind raced with questions. What the hell was Lisa doing with Jason? Charlie knew that Lisa and her boyfriend had broken up in February, but Jason? Jason was ... was what? Her partner? Her friend? None of those things changed if Lisa and Jason dated. Although when Lisa chewed up his heart and spit it out like a gristly piece of meat it would certainly make inviting him to Friday night dinner awkward. She took a deep breath. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe ...

  Charlie glanced up at his building again. Nope. She could feel her cousin's presence now that she was aware of it and there was no mistaking it. She scowled, put the car into reverse and headed home, unsure what she should do with this new information.

  Chapter 2

  On Monday morning, Charlie scraped the wooden spoon through the eggs in the hot pan, stirring them into large lumps, just the way her eleven-year-old son Evan liked them. She glanced down at the flame, making sure it was at a near-simmer so as not to cook them too fast. Evan could be picky when it came to his eggs. One hint that they were browning, and her boy would wriggle his nose and draw his mouth into a frown and refuse to eat them. She needed to get him to school, run to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription and be at work by nine this morning. Too much to do for Evan to turn up his nose at her cooking today.

  The television droned in the background as she scooped eggs onto a plate. A piece of toast popped up from the toaster and she laid it over the mound of yellow curds to keep them warm.

  “Evan,” she called, placing his plate on the bistro table against the far wall of the small kitchen. “Come on honey. We're gonna be late. Get a move on.”

  She placed the pan in the bottom of the sink and rinsed the ancient cast-iron before giving it a good scrub with a dish brush. Something red caught her eye and she glanced out the window in front of her.

  A large expanse of lush green grass separated her little cottage from the main house where her uncle and his daughter Jen and granddaughter Ruby lived. A pale layer of mist hovered just above the lawn, which had been manicured to within an inch of its life. Charlie saw her young cousin Ruby descending the back steps, a large white basket in one hand and bright red rubber boots on her feet. At first Ruby swung the basket as she walked and talked to herself. Charlie couldn't help but smile. The petite girl wore her long dark hair in a braid down her back. She stopped on the lawn and suddenly spun around, whipping her braid as she went.

  Charlie chuckled and smiled wider. She loved that even at six Ruby wasn't afraid of walking, or in this case spinning, to her own drummer. She shook her head and shifted her attention back to her pan. She dried it with one of the red and white dish towels hanging on the hook by the sink, then put the pan back on the apartment-size stove to heat for a quick seasoning with bacon grease. She scooped a teaspoon of the nearly solid drippings into the center of the old pan and the slight scent of bacon filled the air as soon as it started to melt.

  “Hey look, Mom,” Evan said. His chair scraped across the tile floor and he took a seat. “That's the place we're supposed to go for our field trip next week.”

  Charlie looked up at the television. A pretty brunette reporter was talking about a body that had been found at the Seward Nature Preserve. Behind the reporter Charlie saw men in khaki and brown uniforms milling around the crime scene. She turned and folded her arms across her chest.

  “I wonder if it's anybody we know,” Evan said, sounding a little too excited. He broke his toast in half and began to butter it. Charlie frowned.

  “Turn that off, sweetie. Come on and eat. We've got to get going.”

  Evan glanced at the stove. “Your pan is burning.”

  The heavy odor of acrid smoke hit her nostrils. “Dammit,” she muttered. Quickly she turned off the burner, grabbed the hot pad hanging from a hook beside the stove and moved the smoking pan to a cool burner. With the twist of a knob the exhaust fan roared into action, but it wasn't enough to siphon away the billowing black cloud. Charlie unlocked the window over the sink and pushed up the sash.

  Ruby stood frozen, her little body no longer spinning and dancing. Her red boots glistened with morning dew and the hair at the nape of Charlie's neck stood up. A second later a shrill little-girl scream echoed across the lawn, filling up the space between the houses.

  “What was that?” Evan's fork clanked as he dropped it on the plate.

  “It's Ruby. Stay here,” Charlie warned. Another shriek, this one longer and more painful than the first, ruptured the quiet. Evan's blue eyes widened and he hopped to his feet and was out the front door before she could stop him.

  “Evan!” She followed him outside to scold him for not listening, but he was halfway across the yard headed toward the white clapboard chicken coop. The sight of her six-year-old cousin Ruby made her choke back the words. The child had fallen to her knees and her little body shook. Charlie broke into a run.

  Evan skidded across the wet grass and knelt beside the little girl long before Charlie could get to them. He put his hand on her back and Ruby latched onto him, throwing her arms around his neck, almost knocking him over. Charlie came up behind them, her mind trying to make sense of what she was seeing. She touched her hand to Ruby's back, giving it a gentle pat.

  “Holy shit,” Charlie muttered under her breath. Bloodied mounds of white feathers lay scattered around the coop. “Oh my God,” Charlie whispered as she walked among the bodies. A large metal bowl filled with chicken feed and table scraps lay on the ground, its contents untouched. Charlie felt her face go cold. The sound of Ruby weeping pulled her back and Charlie tried to keep her voice as steady as possible as she spoke.

  “Evan carry her to the house and send Uncle Jack out.”

  “Yes ma'am.” Evan glanced at the dead chickens and grimaced. He whispered something into Ruby's ear. She loosened her grip long enough for him to stand up. The normally sassy six-year-old sniffed back her tears as Evan picked her up. She wrapped her legs tightly around his mid-section and her arms around his neck. Her watery blue eyes stared at the chickens as they headed toward the tidewater-style house.

  Charlie knelt next to one of the carcasses. Something about it just didn't seem right but she couldn't quite put her finger on what was wrong.

  “What the hell happened?” Jack asked as he approached a few moments later. His red leathery face was a map of concern. “Evan said all the chickens were --” He stopped as soon as he saw the bodies. “Well shit.”

  “Good thing Jen's not here or you'd owe the swear jar,” Charlie said absently.

  “Hell, Jen'll be able to put Ruby through college just from what she puts in that jar every week.” He crossed his arms and surveyed the seven corpses.

  Charlie poked at the body in front of her and it finally became apparent what was going on. She looked at the other bodies and recoiled. “Their heads are missing,” she said her voice full of horror. “What would do this? A raccoon?”

  Her uncle put a hand on her shoulder and dropped to one knee next to her. He grabbed the poor bird in front of them and flipped it over, examining it more closely.

  “No animal I know could do this.” He sounded angry and little disgusted. “Look.” He held up the bloody stump of one of the chicken's legs. “They took the feet. The only thing that would leave such a clean cut like this is a blade.”

  Her stomach churned. “Are you saying someone purposefully came onto the property and killed the chickens for their heads and feet?”

  “Yep.” Jack scrubbed his fingers through the bristly hair covering his chin and sighed. “I chased some teenagers off my dock a couple
weeks ago. Could be their handiwork.” His mouth disappeared into his wiry gray beard. “Son of a bitch. They were just getting to where they were laying good again.”

  She looked her uncle in the eye. “You should call the sheriff.”

  Jack shook his head. “Why? So he can take a report that's never gonna go anywhere?”

  “It might,” she countered, but she knew he was right.

  “Nah. I'll just give them a proper burial and head over to the feed and seed.”

  Charlie nodded. “Well, I'm at least gonna let Jason know.”

  “All right you do that and I'll see if Wilma Connors can get me some chicks as fast as she can.”

  Charlie sighed. “That'll help Ruby, I guess.”

  “Yeah, she loved these girls.”

  Near the edge of the woods between her uncle's property and the river, Charlie heard clucking sounds. Maybe one of the chickens had somehow escaped the others' fate. “You hear that?”

  Jack's head tilted to one side, as if he were listening. The heavy lines on his forehead deepened. “I don't hear anything.”

  The clucking grew louder. “How can you not hear that? It's so loud. Hold on.” Charlie rose to her feet and pulled her uncle up to standing. She headed toward the sound, her heart growing lighter. When she reached the edge of the tree line, she scanned the branches. Sitting on a low branch was a lone buff-colored chicken.

  “We have a survivor!”

  Jack stalked through the litter of chicken corpses toward her. “Where?”

  “There.” She pointed to the chicken sitting in the tree.

  “I don't see anything.” A quizzical expression deepened the lines of her uncle's face, making him look much older than his sixty-three years. “Where?”

  “Right there.” She continued to point. Charlie glanced from the chicken to her uncle and back again. She frowned with realization. The bird was just as dead as the others. “Well shit.”

  Her uncle gave her a smug look and held out his palm. “Guess I'm not the only one who owes the swear jar. Pay up.”

  Charlie shook her head and gave her uncle a don't-be-ridiculous look. “You first.”

  He smiled and scratched his head. “Can you drop Ruby off at school on your way out? Looks like I've got a mass grave to dig.”

  “You don't want to clean them and eat them?” Charlie half-teased.

  “No way. One, because Ruby gave them all names. I don't really want to eat her pets, do you?”

  Charlie wriggled up her nose. “Oh. No, definitely not.”

  “Secondly, do you have any idea what a pain in the ass it is to clean a chicken?”

  Charlie shook her head. “Nope. Nor do I want to.”

  The spirit of the chicken continued to cluck over their heads. Charlie twisted her lips at the poor little thing. “You wouldn't happen to know the name of that buff colored chicken would you?”

  “That's Penny,” he said. “Ruby's favorite.”

  “Of course it is,” she muttered. How on earth was she supposed to help a dead chicken?

  “Why?”

  “No reason. I better get going or we're all be gonna be late.”

  The lunch crowd thinned at the Kitchen Witch Cafe after two o'clock, giving Jen a chance to breathe before she had to pick up her daughter, Ruby, from school at 3:15. Her father had called her that morning and told her about the chickens. The thought of someone skulking around their hen house out of spite made her stomach turn over. She could keep spirits and other supernatural things off the property with carefully designed wards. People were trickier. She could sometimes turn them away but a lot of it depended on their will. If a person wanted to get on their property and was hell bent on doing it, there was very little white or even gray magic she knew of to completely stop it from happening.

  Thankfully, her father had been there to deal with the chicken corpses because she didn't think she could have handled that today. What she could handle was Ruby's tender heart and her questions. That was Jen's specialty. She'd mulled over the anticipated conversation all day, playing through different scenarios, different lines of questioning her precocious daughter might throw at her. She was prepared for anything her six-year-old might come up with.

  After refilling the iced-tea for the couple sitting by the front window, she went through the cash drawer, counting it carefully, whittling it down to a hundred and fifty dollars of mostly twenties, tens, fives and ones. She slipped a rubber band around a stack of twenties, and placed it inside the vinyl deposit pouch before she stuck it inside her green canvas messenger bag. She may as well make a bank run while she was out.

  The bell jingled and she looked up. Kristin Duguid walked in the door with a wide smile and a wave. Her fine blonde hair hung over her slim shoulders and her blue eyes glittered with light. Something that Jen hadn't seen in her friend's eyes in a long time.

  “Well, hey Kristin,” Jen said. “You're positively glowing. What's going on?”

  “I can't talk about yet.”

  “Well I know it's not a new job, since you own the pharmacy. So it must be a new man.”

  Kristin's fair cheeks colored a deep red and she giggled. “Jen stop. I'm not gonna talk about it right now.”

  “It is,” Jen teased. “Kristin has a boyfriend.”

  “I promise you'll be the first to know when I have news,” Kristin said, taking a seat at the counter. Right now I just need to pick up the pie I ordered earlier. Is it ready?”

  “Yes it is.” Jen zipped up her messenger bag and shoved it into the cubby beneath the cash register. “I'll be right back.” She disappeared into the kitchen and grabbed the plastic bag holding the chocolate pie with salted caramel drizzled on it.

  “I haven't put forks and napkins in there yet,” Evangeline said.

  “I'll do it, don't worry,” Jen said. “And then I've got to go get Ruby.”

  Jen made her way back to the counter and placed the plastic bag down in front of Kristin.

  “We need eight forks or twelve?”

  “Better make it eight, no twelve,” Kristin said, shaking her head. “Just in case.” Jen counted out twelve plastic forks and grabbed a stack of napkins and shoved it all into the plastic bag. Kristin pulled out her credit card and Jen rang up the transaction.

  The bell jingled again and Jen looked up. A tall man she'd never seen before stood near the door, scanning the restaurant as if he were looking for someone. He was handsome in a baby-faced sort of way, with unruly brown hair that curled on his forehead. He was broad-shouldered and there was something mischievous in his blue eyes that charmed her, even from across the room. For a brief second their eyes met and he flashed her a bright, white smile. It caught her off guard when her body reacted with a stomach flutter.

  Kristin followed Jen's gaze and then gave her sly smile. “Now who has a man?”

  “Oh hush,” Jen said handing Kristin her receipt. Kristin laughed and walked out making sure to say hello to the man as she passed him. He headed for the counter and took a seat, craning his neck at the expansive chalk-board menu that stretched the length of the back counter.

  Jen called up her best customer-service smile, grabbed her order pad and pulled the pen from behind her ear.

  “Hi,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

  “Well, what's good?” He folded his hands together.

  “Everything,” she said.

  “Wow,” he chuckled. “Is your boss close by or are you just that enthusiastic.”

  “Both,” she grinned. “I am the boss, and yes, I am that enthusiastic.”

  “An enthusiastic entrepreneur and cute to boot. I guess it's my lucky day,” he said.

  Jen's cheeks filled with unexpected heat. Dealing with men flirting with her was a daily occurrence and it ranged from subtle to sexual harassment. She'd removed her fair share of men's hands from her ass and once joked to Evangeline that she should put the skills needed to gently but firmly put a man in his place in the job description for new waitre
sses.

  Maybe it was his smile or maybe it was the way his eyes glittered. Whatever it was it made her keenly aware of her attraction to him. Flirting back could mean making things easier for herself, a bigger tip or maybe even a return customer. She was fishing for none of those things, though, so she pretended to be more interested in her order pad than looking him in the eye. “I guess it is,” she said. “So have you decided?”

  “Uh -- I think I'll try the grilled pimento cheese with homemade chips.”

  “Sounds good.” She tested the waters and glanced at him. His smile had toned to a contented line and she poured him a glass of water.

  A few minutes later she served him and put the ticket down on the counter next to him.

  “So, you're from here. I take it,” he said, inspecting the oozing cheese sandwich. He brought it to his nose and sniffed it before taking his first bite.

  “Born and raised.” She smiled, loving to watch the faces of people when they tried her food for the first time. Even when she got a furrowed brow -- as if the person wasn't sure exactly what they were tasting -- there was almost always a little moan of pleasure.

  His eyes rolled back in his head for a few seconds as the crunch of the buttery bread melded with the spicy cheese mix. “Mmm--my god, that's good,” he said covering his mouth with his hand. At least his mama had raised him right.

  “Thanks,” she chirped. “Glad you like it.”

  “Are you the chef here?” he asked.

  “Chef, waitress, hostess, money-taker, bathroom scrubber.” She chuckled to herself. “You name it. I do it.”

  “Very nice.” He nodded. He wiped his hand on his pants and offered it to shake. “I'm Ben. Ben Sutton.”

  “Nice to meet you Ben. Ben Sutton,” she quipped, taking his hand. A chill raced up her arm leaving goosebumps in its wake. It had been awhile since that had happened. Not since Mark Seavers, Ruby's father. “I'm Jen.”

  “Jen,” he said softly as if he liked the way it rolled across his tongue.