out a cry and the glow was gone.
“Madame Torres?”
I called for her. “Are you there? I need to know who I need to stay away from.
Madame Torres?”
She didn’t
respond and the crack stayed dark. I had to get my hands on her, but how?
I had no time to
try to break in. Evidently I had to perform a smudging ceremony, whatever that
was. I made sure that I closed the cellar doors so Izzy wouldn’t know I was
there. The streets were empty as I made my way to the shop. I couldn’t help but
peer over my back. If I was in danger like Madame Torres said, and someone was
framing me for Ann’s murder, surely they were watching me. But who?
After I unlocked
the wooden door, I stood inside of A Dose of Darla and inhaled—deeply. Surely
something was going to come flooding into my spiritualist’s body. Nothing but a
craving for a Ding Dong came flooding.
I opened my
black bag and pulled out a Ding Dong and Darla’s journal.
I’d bet Darla
had done this smudging thing a time or two. I thumbed through the worn leather
journal looking for anything that resembled a ceremony.
“Things you need
to know,” I read Darla’s handwriting out loud. Who was she talking to? Who
needs to know what? Was this journal intended for me? As much as I wanted to
sit there and read through it, there wasn’t time to explore my questions. I
dog-eared the page for later reading and continued to thumb through it.
“Intuition?” My
gut told me to stop and read it. “Always rely on your intuition. You have
always had a great sense of feeling. That is why I think you are a spiritualist
like your father. When you really need something, you need to stop and listen
to your gut.”
I flipped the
page. “That’s it?” I flipped a couple more pages, but the topics were
different. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I put the
journal in my black bag and strapped it across my chest. I walked to the back
room where most of the herbs were hanging and ran my fingers along the
bottom-edge of them, trying to “listen to my gut” as Darla had put it. I had no
choice but to listen to my intuition.
Sage? Sage was a
healer. That sounded good. And that was what I relied on to get me what I
needed for the ceremony. After all, it was now my ceremony and I could do what
I wanted to.
Which made me
think. If I was doing all of it now, who had been doing it? I made a mental
note to ask Izzy about it. I wondered if that was a clue to who had been
conspiring to make me the village killer.
With all the
herbs in my arms, I grabbed the journal, and then I made my way around the
lake. I couldn’t help but stop where they had found Ann and brush my shoes
along the tall grass. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I did hope that
Oscar might’ve missed something. Anything.
The grass parted
exposing the muddy floor before the edge of the lake. I bent down when I saw
what looked like a shoe print. A couple of shoe prints. And the toes where more
dug in than the back of the shoe, as if they stood on their toes for a lengthy
period of time. Which someone would if they were holding someone down by their
neck, right?
One thing that
struck me funny, I was the one who was going to perform the ceremony to heal
the village from the killer, and I was the only suspect.
I heard the
crowd gathering in the woods. The footprints were going to have to wait. If no
one saw them by now, no one was going to be looking anytime soon. Or so I
hoped.
Everyone parted
when they saw me coming, making a pathway for me to walk to the rock. Bella was
right it was a huge rock that had some significant meaning to the village. What
the meaning was, I had no clue, reminding me that I had a lot to learn about my
new life.
Maybe I should
just start reading up about life in jail.
I laid the three
herbs I had gathered and put them across the rock. A collective sigh of relief
fell over the crowd like I really did something wonderful. That was all I
needed. Dramatically, I took apart
“Madame Torres?”
I called for her. “Are you there? I need to know who I need to stay away from.
Madame Torres?”
She didn’t
respond and the crack stayed dark. I had to get my hands on her, but how?
I had no time to
try to break in. Evidently I had to perform a smudging ceremony, whatever that
was. I made sure that I closed the cellar doors so Izzy wouldn’t know I was
there. The streets were empty as I made my way to the shop. I couldn’t help but
peer over my back. If I was in danger like Madame Torres said, and someone was
framing me for Ann’s murder, surely they were watching me. But who?
After I unlocked
the wooden door, I stood inside of A Dose of Darla and inhaled—deeply. Surely
something was going to come flooding into my spiritualist’s body. Nothing but a
craving for a Ding Dong came flooding.
I opened my
black bag and pulled out a Ding Dong and Darla’s journal.
I’d bet Darla
had done this smudging thing a time or two. I thumbed through the worn leather
journal looking for anything that resembled a ceremony.
“Things you need
to know,” I read Darla’s handwriting out loud. Who was she talking to? Who
needs to know what? Was this journal intended for me? As much as I wanted to
sit there and read through it, there wasn’t time to explore my questions. I
dog-eared the page for later reading and continued to thumb through it.
“Intuition?” My
gut told me to stop and read it. “Always rely on your intuition. You have
always had a great sense of feeling. That is why I think you are a spiritualist
like your father. When you really need something, you need to stop and listen
to your gut.”
I flipped the
page. “That’s it?” I flipped a couple more pages, but the topics were
different. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I put the
journal in my black bag and strapped it across my chest. I walked to the back
room where most of the herbs were hanging and ran my fingers along the
bottom-edge of them, trying to “listen to my gut” as Darla had put it. I had no
choice but to listen to my intuition.
Sage? Sage was a
healer. That sounded good. And that was what I relied on to get me what I
needed for the ceremony. After all, it was now my ceremony and I could do what
I wanted to.
Which made me
think. If I was doing all of it now, who had been doing it? I made a mental
note to ask Izzy about it. I wondered if that was a clue to who had been
conspiring to make me the village killer.
With all the
herbs in my arms, I grabbed the journal, and then I made my way around the
lake. I couldn’t help but stop where they had found Ann and brush my shoes
along the tall grass. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I did hope that
Oscar might’ve missed something. Anything.
The grass parted
exposing the muddy floor before the edge of the lake. I bent down when I saw
what looked like a shoe print. A couple of shoe prints. And the toes where more
dug in than the back of the shoe, as if they stood on their toes for a lengthy
period of time. Which someone would if they were holding someone down by their
neck, right?
One thing that
struck me funny, I was the one who was going to perform the ceremony to heal
the village from the killer, and I was the only suspect.
I heard the
crowd gathering in the woods. The footprints were going to have to wait. If no
one saw them by now, no one was going to be looking anytime soon. Or so I
hoped.
Everyone parted
when they saw me coming, making a pathway for me to walk to the rock. Bella was
right it was a huge rock that had some significant meaning to the village. What
the meaning was, I had no clue, reminding me that I had a lot to learn about my
new life.
Maybe I should
just start reading up about life in jail.
I laid the three
herbs I had gathered and put them across the rock. A collective sigh of relief
fell over the crowd like I really did something wonderful. That was all I
needed. Dramatically, I took apart
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