Murder Casts Its Spell

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  MURDER CASTS ITS SPELL

  by

  MARGARET C. MORSE

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  Copyright © 2016 by Margaret C. Morse

  Cover design by Estrella Designs

  Gemma Halliday Publishing

  http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Thanks to my wonderful editor, Sally J. Smith. I'm grateful to crime fiction author Betty Webb for her encouragement. I learned much from the insights of my critique group—Stacey Smith Goitia, Leslie Chernell Jones, and Kathy McAvoy. And a big hug to my wonderful husband Duane for his support and patience.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  MONDAY AFTERNOON

  The old guy blocked my way to the courthouse. Pockmarks cut into his face. Rips and stains disfigured his shirt. I scanned his ruined face, and our eyes met. Startled when his gray irises turned green, like mine, I paused. He shoved a clipboard at me and mumbled something. The only word I understood was "sign."

  "Sign what?" The parking lot asphalt, heated by the desert sun, burned up through my black flats.

  Two of his front teeth were missing. He tapped the clipboard with a grimy fingernail. "—op…ersecution…izard."

  I pulled the clipboard from his hands, curious about his agenda. The top sheet had spaces for twenty names. Pranksters had written Harry Potter and Merlin the Magnificent in the first two slots. Below these imposters, I recognized the names of three colleagues in the criminal defense bar. The statement at the top read Wizards Against Injustice presents a petition to prohibit discrimination against persons of magic blood in legal proceedings.

  "It's a little vague." My response disappointed him, for his wrinkles turned down. "You do have an argument about equal protection under the law."

  He shook his fist at the largest storefront in the strip mall, formerly Food Giant, now the South Central Phoenix Justice Court. From inside the building, a security guard peered at us.

  I retrieved a pen from my briefcase. In spite of the imprecision of the wording, I agreed with its sentiment. Watching me sign, the old man's eyes shone, and all the lines in his face turned up. When I returned the clipboard, he studied my name.

  He scrunched up his face and made a supreme effort at enunciation. "Miss, may Our Lady bless you."

  When he pushed air at me, a draft chilled my skin. I realized he may have sent a spell at me, so I thrust out my arms as if I could send back his magic, although I have no wizard powers. My vision sharpened so much I saw the pores in his crusty skin. The stains on his shirt formed into jagged wounds that dripped blood. I blinked, wanting to clear the delusion from my eyes. A tingle crept down my arms. My head went giddy, and I tottered.

  A strong hand gripped my shoulder. "Hey, Ernie, that's no way to treat a lady."

  My tight muscles relaxed at the appearance of Keegan Flynn, the investigator and office manager for my law firm. Six feet two and slender, he had the agile body of a man who landed on his feet.

  With Keegan's touch, my vision returned to normal. I stood steady, the dizziness gone.

  "I think he tried a blessing spell, but it went wrong. I'm okay now."

  Keegan moved in front of me and confronted the old man. "This is a bad place to mess up a spell, Ernie. Security cameras everywhere. Protector Wizards inside the courthouse. You don't want to be busted again for botching a spell."

  Ernie stared at us, eyes eloquent with his passionate, garbled thoughts.

  Keegan pulled out a card. It read Rêve Vivant, the circus his family owned. "Take this to the back door. They'll help you out." He made a circular gesture in front of Ernie's face. "May the blessings of Our Lady be with you."

  Ernie shuffled off, hugging the clipboard, a shield against life's onslaughts.

  Keegan shook his head. "WAI must be desperate if they're using guys like Ernie to peddle their petitions. Sure you're okay, Petra? An unstable wizard like Ernie can hurt people with his messed-up magic."

  I flexed my fingers, relieved that I'd lost the tingling sensation. "For a second I felt like someone zapped me. I'm okay now. How do you know Ernie?"

  "He used to be a clown at my family's circus. Dad fired him when he screwed up spells and caused an accident. Ever since, Ernie's been in and out of the county psych ward for whacked-out wizards."

  It seemed as if a layer of grit had transferred itself from Ernie to me. I brushed at my navy suit and leather briefcase. The encounter with Ernie had derailed me from my focus on Keegan. "He was a nuisance. I feel sorry for him, but we need to talk about your hearing."

  Keegan followed me to the awning that shaded the front of the grocery store turned into a court. Today, he wasn't here as my investigator on a case. He was my client, charged with illegally using a spell on his ex-girlfriend, Felicia Morlatti, to induce her to sign a custody agreement. He'd followed my instructions and dressed in a dark suit and blue tie. Relying on his own inclination, he'd worn cowboy boots. His dark curly hair, clipped short, always stayed in place. I hoped the judge would see him as a well-dressed, responsible citizen.

  "I have an update for you." My voice came out sharp. I cleared my throat to soften my tone, not wanting to sound like a harpy. Keegan wasn't a client I had to control. He was a friend who needed my help. "Did you know your brother, Ira, saw Felicia last night?"

  Keegan went rigid. "What did Ira do?"

  I waited to answer because a woman marched out of the court and halted on the sidewalk, close enough to overhear us. On her pink T-shirt black letters read Mother of Mercy, Empower Me. Apparently the goddess of the wizards wasn't spiritually enhancing the woman—her face was contorted, and she glared at a skinny teenager who slouched out, eyes rapt on his phone.

  When they passed by, I stepped closer to Keegan. "It sounds like good news. Ira left me a voicemail. He said Felicia agreed to drop charges."

  "Good news? It's great. She doesn't show today, the state dismisses." He relaxed against the storefront wall. "I can't believe it'll be over that easy."

  I swallowed. Being a lawyer means handing out bitter pills. "It might not be. If the prosecutor thinks you got together with Ira to force Felicia to drop charges, there'll be big trouble."

  Keegan straightened. "You can't possibly think I'd be that stupid."

  "What if the state's lawyer thinks you pressured Felicia? Will Wentworth's the prosecutor today. He'll dump a case if he can do it without looking bad." As Keegan unclenched his jaw muscles, I added, "Just in case, when's the last time you called Ira or sent him an email?"

  "A couple of days ago." He tugged at his tie as if it were choking him. "He did leave me a garbled voicemail late last night. I listene
d to it this morning, thought he was drunk. Ten minutes later I got a text from my mother. Ira had just showed up at her place. He was coming out of one of his episodes."

  In the parking lot, the pink T-shirted woman yelled at the kid and flailed her arms. She must have sent out a spell because the phone flew out of his hands and smashed onto the pavement. I forced my gaze away from this drama. "You mean like a psychotic episode?"

  "It begins with a flashback to when he was a kid." Keegan frowned, lowering his eyes to study the square toes of his boots. "He loses touch with reality, thinks he has to fight everybody."

  I thought of all the ways a visit with Felicia by a mentally unbalanced Ira could mess up Keegan's case. "Can the state in any way document that you communicated with Ira right before his visit to Felicia?" He shook his head but didn't look at me. "You don't know why he went to see her last night?"

  "Ira stayed friendly with Felicia after I broke up with her. I have no definite knowledge of why he went last night except he knows the hearing is today."

  "I'm the one who taught you how to use weasel words when opposing counsel interviews you. Don't try it on me." I paused until he made eye contact with me. "Is there something important about your case I need to know? I can't represent you if you're not truthful with me."

  "Yes, you can. Your clients lie to you all the time." He grinned—his teeth shone white. "I've told you everything I think you need to know."

  My phone alarm chirped. I'd set it for five minutes before court, which never started on time. "If Ira is right and Felicia doesn't show, that's the best case scenario. If Felicia does show, who knows what she'll say."

  Keegan held up his phone and showed me a picture of his fifteen-month-old son, Oscar. The kid had a fat face and a mop of curly brown hair. "I'm fighting for my child. I will let nothing interfere with my relationship with him. Felicia wants Oscar all to herself. No matter how bad it gets, I'm counting on you to kick her butt."

  "That's my job. I'll do it, no matter how irritating you are." I smiled to show we were still pals.

  Besides digging out evidence to help clients, Keegan managed the computer system for the firm. He was a good investigator and a good friend. He was there for me when I didn't eat or sleep for two days after my lover, Eduardo, left. Keegan was the one who escorted me to the counselor's office. I squared my shoulders. "Let's get out of the heat. I'll see if I can get any news from the prosecutor."

  Automatic doors whooshed open. I went left, through the electronic checkpoint for non-magicals. Being a wizard, Keegan went right to be wand-scanned by security for potions, powders, or magical devices that could disrupt the court. Keegan would have to wear a clear glass pendant that would turn red if he tried any spells.

  Wizard rights groups had lost lawsuits protesting the pendants as discriminatory. Controversy, especially legal wrangles, had followed Our Lady of Mercy's first and only appearance in 1954 in Socorro, New Mexico. The startled citizens who heard her for those glorious five minutes endlessly disputed her words, agreeing only that she had ordered all magical people to disclose and freely display their powers.

  Today I had to fight for Keegan in this remodeled grocery store. Metal benches lined the hall outside the courtroom, packed with men whose hard lives had tattooed their faces with turned-down creases. A big guy with spiky hair stood near the courtroom door, glowering at everyone. Next to him a toddler with a runny nose screamed and tugged at a woman who stared at her pregnant belly.

  I left Keegan in front of a stand of brochures (So You're in Small Claims Court!) and entered the courtroom, which was filled with people but wasn't in session. The interior had the same plan as a church, with wooden benches like pews and a raised platform in front for the presiding priest, the judge. Walnut paneling kept the room dim. Voices buzzed from the scruffy occupants of the benches. To the right of the judge's seat, a chain gang of inmates sat hunched in the jury box.

  A Protector Wizard materialized wearing a gray jumpsuit and a helmet with dark glass that obscured his face. Ordinarily, the Courtroom Proz stayed camouflaged unless a magic vibe activated them, so I looked for what had set him off. The toddler had waddled in, sucking on her crystal pendant. The pregnant woman snatched her up and darted out into the corridor. The Proz crossed his hands over his chest and faded into the dark woodwork.

  A chunky man, shaved head shining under a fluorescent light, stood up from the prosecutor's table. He scanned the crowd, his steely cop's eyes stopping at me.

  He approached, and I extended a hand to him. "Detective Snyder, good to see you."

  "You too, counselor. I hear we'll be crossing swords over Keegan Flynn?"

  "I had my wits sharpened this morning."

  A ripple went over his lips, which I'd learned was his version of a smile. "Got a voice mail from the victim. Said she wanted to drop charges. You might get lucky with a no-show."

  My insides unwound. Maybe Ira had talked Felicia into dropping the case. I'd been afraid to believe he'd been successful. "You never know in these ex-girlfriend cases."

  I nodded at Snyder. Over at the prosecutor's table, I grinned at Will Wentworth, whom I'd known since my days as a public defender. I tapped Keegan's file. "From what Snyder says, you might not have to spend much time on this case. Victim Felicia Morlatti doesn't show, you dismiss. We all leave a little earlier."

  "Miss Morlatti called my office twice while I was in court this morning. Claims she changed her mind about pressing charges. You know anything about that?"

  "I certainly haven't talked to her."

  "She's already late. I subpoenaed her for a half hour before the hearing."

  My heart beat faster as I left the courtroom. Maybe I would get the case dismissed. I hated the use of valuable time defending Keegan on a charge pressed by a disgruntled ex-lover.

  As I returned to the waiting area, the courtroom door opened. The bailiff stuck out his head and bellowed, "Turner case!"

  The five people slumped on the bench jolted upright and dashed into the courtroom. Keegan stopped pacing and looked at me with his brows raised.

  "There's a glimmer of hope," I said, keeping it downbeat. "Felicia has called the cop and the prosecutor saying she wants to drop charges. You know her pretty well. What do you think she'll do?"

  He made a sour face. "She'll do whatever is most annoying."

  "Let's sit down." I patted the bench, already warm from other bottoms. "Every case I've ever had in this court has started at least an hour late."

  I got out my laptop and reviewed a legal memo on whether the cops had scrupulously honored a client's request for his attorney ("Uh, do you think I need a lawyer?") before interrogating him. My mind went numb from the legal jargon.

  One hour after the scheduled time for Keegan's case, Detective Snyder left the courthouse and strode out, not looking at us.

  "Looks like he's got a hot call." I was too anxious to sit still. "I wonder if Will let him go because he's going to dismiss and forgot to tell us. I'll check."

  In the courtroom, I saw that Will was questioning a witness on the stand. Since he wasn't available, I headed for the judge's clerical staff in the adjoining office. I nodded at the young woman at the front desk, who was examining her star-spangled nails. "Any idea if Keegan Flynn's case is not going? I just saw Detective Snyder leave."

  The woman frowned at me. "You need to stay. The judge hasn't dismissed it."

  Behind her, the four clerks at their desks stopped work and exchanged glances. I grew uneasy, as if someone watched me from behind. A secret knowledge was almost palpable in the work area. The worst scenario flashed through my mind—Felicia'd waffled and now wanted to prosecute. She'd called Detective Snyder to complain of harassment by the Flynn brothers. Snyder might have sent a patrol car out to check on her and was now on the scene himself.

  I returned to the waiting area, where Keegan still paced in front of the benches.

  I blocked his way. "The judge's staff wouldn't give me any real information.
I'm worried Snyder's up to something. We'll have to sweat it out."

  I opened my laptop and began working on a motion to suppress. The thought that Keegan hadn't told me everything was an itch in the back of my head I couldn't scratch away. Unable to concentrate, I shut the computer.

  Five people left the courtroom. "Looks like that hearing is finished. I'm going to see if I can find out anything."

  Before I could move, Snyder charged in through the front door, bypassing the security check. A uniformed cop and a Protector Wizard armed with a staff stomped after him.

  Snyder pushed a palm at me, as if he were stopping traffic. "Miss Rakowitz, step aside. Keegan Flynn, you're under arrest."

  Keegan went rigid. "You're crazy!"

  My mind raced with possible charges, from threatening to interfering with judicial proceedings. I held my place next to Keegan. "My client chooses to remain silent. What is the exact charge?"

  Snyder fixed hard cop eyes on Keegan. "The murder of Felicia Morlatti."

  A spasm disfigured Keegan's face. I wished to comfort him because he was in anguish, but the uniformed cop clamped on to Keegan's arm. Keegan slammed his forehead into the cinder block wall and moaned, "Felicia, Felicia."

  Seeing the Protector Wizard lift his wand, I tugged at Keegan's sleeve. "Don't fight them. It won't help." I didn't want him zapped by the Proz. At my touch, Keegan shuddered and went limp, leaning on the wall. After the cop cuffed him, the Proz lowered his staff.

  I didn't believe Keegan killed Felicia. His surprise and relief looked genuine when I'd told him she was going to drop charges. He wasn't a good enough actor to fake such a natural reaction. If he'd kept secrets from me, it was probably about something that would now seem trivial. Charged up with adrenaline, I needed to do something for him, so I got in Snyder's face. "What kind of evidence do you have?"