Rowenna, reading over his shoulder, said, “I’m sorry. It looks like terrible news.”
“I worked with the guy for years, and I know his wife pretty well, too. Hell, I was in their wedding. This guy was my partner for several years. They went through a really bad spell—she’s a professional ballroom dancer and travels to competitions. Her partner’s gay, and there isn’t a soul who’ll tell you she does anything but dance when she goes out of town. I think Brad just got a little lonely…. Anyway, they worked through it and got back together.” He stopped talking, realizing that he had given her a lot of information, and she hadn’t really asked. “I know Brad, and I don’t believe for a minute that he would hurt her, but when something like this happens, it seldom ends well. I hate to say it, but the odds are she’s dead, and the cops are likely to waste time focusing on Brad instead of going after the real killer.”
She shook her head sadly.
“It’s very strange,” she said, and briefly looked his way. “Sorry,” she added in response to his quizzical frown. “I mean it’s strange the way she disappeared. Into thin air. Without anyone seeing anything. Salem at Halloween is insane. There are people everywhere. It’s hard to believe no one saw anything.”
“Oh? How do you know so much about it?”
She offered him a dry smile. “Salem is my hometown. I was born there. Well, not in the city proper—my area is still unincorporated—but I grew up on stories of the witch trials. It would have been a plain old fishing village like a hundred others if not for that.”
“I knew you were from New England,” he told her. “I guess I just figured Boston, from the PR bio they sent me before you got here.”
“I went to college in Boston,” she said. “Actually,” she added with a laugh, “I went to college in a number of cities in a number of states.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “What can I say? I like school. And one interest led to another.”
Jeremy idly ran his fingers through his hair, staring at her. “Just how many degrees to you have, Miss Cavanaugh?”
“Two. Philosophy and communications,” she assured him. “I like electives. I have tons of those. Ancient Greek legends, Roman beliefs and superstitions, and a lot of history.” She looked away for a moment, then went on. “Naturally I looked into the history of my own area. Back in the time of the witch trials, people were convinced that Satan actually walked the earth. Thousands were executed in Europe. Despite the madness, it never got as bad over here.” She grimaced. “My family was already in the area when it all happened. My great-great-great—well, a lot of greats, anyway—grandfather was arrested. His family had the money to get him out of jail, so he survived. The thing is, what went on then has nothing to do with Salem now. Today’s witches are completely different.”
“Today’s witches?” Jeremy echoed skeptically. “Great. Mary disappeared in a town where everyone thinks there are still witches.”
She was silent for a minute. “You’re missing the point. Today’s so-called witches are really wiccans. Wicca is a pagan nature-based religion. There’s no relation between what wiccans practice today and what the witches of the past were supposedly doing.”
“Oh, please, you don’t buy into all that, do you?” he asked her.
“I’m not a wiccan, if that’s what you’re asking, but I have friends who are,” she said, keeping as much indignation as she could from her voice. “Wicca is a recognized religion, you know. If a soldier comes home to be buried, he can have the sign of the pentagram on his marker, just the same as he could have a Star of David or a cross.”
“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said. “It’s just that…well, bringing that kind of woo-woo superstition into things always complicates matters.”
“It shouldn’t. Wiccans don’t believe in doing evil. Whatever one person does to another is returned threefold. So a wiccan wouldn’t hurt anyone, because they would be hurt three times as badly in return.”
“Yeah, and if you’re Christian, you go to hell if you kill someone. That doesn’t stop a lot of Christians from turning into cold-blooded murderers.”
“I agree with you there,” she said.
He’d had enough of the discussion suddenly. “Look, we’re not going to solve anything here, so why don’t we head over to the Quarter?”
“You’re taking me up on that drink?” she asked.
He was. He wasn’t sure why, but he was. He liked the sound of her voice. He was interested in the things she had to say. He was drawn to her—well, hell, any heterosexual male was going to be drawn to her—even though he still felt as if he needed some kind of barrier between them.
Not that it really mattered now. Today was it. She was leaving after tonight’s party. No more debates. Their paths would not cross again.