Chapter 9

9

DECLAN

C up & Cauldron is never busy like the other shops in town. It operates as if they have a one-customer-at-a-time town-imposed rule. Some customers walk into the cafe like it’s part of their routine, and others enter slowly, looking around to see if anyone’s watching before they enter. I note the ones who look like they have something to hide to look into later.

I’m still not convinced that Carolina and Camila have anything to do with the disappearances, but I am sure they’re hiding something .

Bas has given up staking out the place with me, but it’s become part of my workday. I’ve done it three mornings in a row, but unlike the other times, the younger Castillo sister leaves the shop. I shift in my seat to see where she’s headed, one hand on my keys to start the car in case I have to trail her.

With a coffee and a paper bag in her hand, she looks both ways before crossing the street and heading in my direction. So much for a low profile.

Camila is smiling as she taps on my window, and I have to turn the car on to roll it down.

“Thought you could use a pick-me-up,” Camila says with a smile. “Black coffee and a lemon loaf.”

“Appreciate it.” Camila lingers even after I’ve taken the items from her. “Can I help you with something, Miss Castillo?”

“Camila.” The correction leaves her lips without hesitation. “I was just thinking that it’s probably much warmer in the shop than in your car. If you wanted to…do whatever it is you’re doing every morning inside the shop, that would be okay.”

I try to reconcile the Camila I’ve heard about with the one in front of me, and I’m sure they’ve got the wrong sister. She’s far too hospitable.

“Would I have to order something?”

Camila laughs, and I’m convinced the sound gets her out of a variety of precarious situations outside this town.

“Only if you want to, Detective,” she says as she turns back to the cafe.

The next morning, I took Camila up on her offer because I’d learned nothing from observing the shop from the outside. I brought my laptop and case files to work on, so at least I wouldn’t be loitering.

If Carolina’s surprised to see me in her shop, she doesn’t show it.

“What can I get for you, Detective?”

My eyes roam over the blackboard menus above her head, and I contemplate ordering one of the teas I am positive are not teas out of curiosity, but I don’t. “Coffee, black.”

Her nose wrinkles almost imperceptibly as she pulls a to-go cup from beside her and rings the order into the register.

“For here, actually.”

That gets her attention. “For here? ”

Her dark brown eyes bore into mine, and I knew she wanted to know what I was up to, but she didn’t ask.

I planned to work here for the day, telling Bas I wanted to get an up-close and personal understanding of who the Castillo sisters were. That was part of it, of course. The other parts were difficult to explain. Call it more of my curiosity.

“How do you stay in business if it’s always empty?” I ask aloud and then consider how rude of a question it was.

“Deal with the devil,” Carolina replies apathetically as she fills the mug.

“Naturally.”

She’s turned away from me, but I see the corner of her mouth turn up.

“You know, I don’t think you’re beating the witchcraft allegations with the word ‘cauldron’ in your shop’s name.”

She raises a shoulder. “We decided to lean into it. Actually, around this time, the shop gets quite busy with tourists because of it.”

I laugh. “Tourists? In Grove Meadow?”

“Oh, just you wait, Detective,” she says, looking over her shoulder at me, “things get real spooky here in the Grove.”

Carolina is different from her sister. I feel like I have to work to earn her smiles, whereas Camila’s seemed to come more easily. The older Castillo sister seemed more guarded…more mysterious, and the thing about me was that I loved a good mystery.

Our fingers brush as Carolina passes me the cup of coffee, and I jerk back at the surge of static electricity that races up my arm. In contrast, Carolina stiffens, and her eyes seem to glaze over.

“Carolina?” My voice doesn’t seem to shake her, but a sharp meow that comes from behind the counter gets her attention .

“Sorry,” she says, putting the mug down on the counter and sliding it toward me. “I was just thinking about something…never mind. Here’s your coffee, Detective O’Reilly.”

My eyes don’t leave hers as I try to discern what just happened, but she breaks away before long.

“Thanks.”

I settle in at the table in the corner of the shop, furthest from the window, and dive into the files Bas sent over late yesterday. We recently gained access to Gemma’s computer, and I’ve been sorting through the files on it.

Her finances seemed to be in order. She had a lot of student loan debt, but that was normal. She paid for her studio space by teaching art classes for all ages, hosting regular “Paint & Sip” nights, having artists from outside of town sell their work in her studio gallery and taking a commission percentage, and selling her own paintings.

If I isolated her disappearance, it still didn’t make sense. Gemma was a prominent member of the community. The town seemed to like her, and she hadn’t made any enemies. Gemma, by all accounts considered, was a low-risk target.

Her digital calendar flashes on my screen. It’s filled with various colored boxes. A recurring event on Wednesday evenings catches my attention. Unlike the other events on her calendar, it doesn’t have a title or location. There are no other invited guests, and it’s much later than her usual studio community events.

What could Gemma Dawson have been doing on Wednesday nights?

“Carolina?” I call. She turns to me, pausing in her filling of the pastry case. “Does the town do anything on Wednesday nights? Around 8 p.m.?”

She thinks for a moment. “No, not that I know of. Greg Morris used to host Bar Trivia in the summer, but not anymore, and that was on Tuesdays. Nothing in town tends to go that late. Most shops close by 6:30.”

“Thanks.”

I return to my computer. It was a long shot, but it was the only thread I’d seen in days.

Pulling out the paper case files from my bag, I locate the transcribed statement from Felix Hayes’s wife. I skim the document until I find…

“Felix was home every night at 6 p.m. sharp except Wednesdays when he had poker night with some of the guys from town. Then, one night, he just never came home.”

It could be a coincidence that Felix and Gemma had an event on the same night, but my gut told me to dig deeper.

I quickly pull out Owen Donovan’s file and look for any mention of a poker night. I find nothing and make a note to check with his family about it.

Then I find Miles’s file and don’t find a poker night either, but I do see that he attended a book club every Wednesday night at Hazel Whitman’s inn. A bookstore owner attending a book club should be the least suspicious thing in the world, but the logistics are brow-raising.

So whatever meeting it is they’re all going to, at least one person is lying about it. I continue to pull on the thread.

When I look at Vivian’s calendar, I see the same time and day blocked off, but there’s no note as to what it is.

What could a librarian, a bookstore owner, an event planner, a hardware store owner, and an artist possibly have in common? In theory, nothing. Maybe they were in the same book club, poker night, or whatever.

I startle at Carolina’s sudden appearance by my side.

“Sorry, you looked stressed,” she apologizes. “I just wanted to bring over this banana bread. Seemed like something Camila would do.”

I laugh, still reeling from the connection I just found. “Thanks.”

Her gaze narrows at a document behind my computer, and I shut the laptop screen to see what it is. “Are those where they disappeared?”

“Uh, maybe. We’re not sure. Each place has a weird marking, but it could be unrelated. I thought there might be something there if I put them on a map.”

She touches the map with her index finger. “It’s a pentagram.”

“What?”

Carolina turns the map so it faces me. “Well, almost. You’re missing a point, see…”

Her finger glides across the page to draw the five-sided shape, but the last point is missing. We haven’t had a reason to send anyone to check that location, but if nothing is there, it could be our next crime scene.

“Five missing people, five points,” Carolina murmurs.

I glance up at her, and her eyes are glazed over again.

“So if they’re related, there might not be any more disappearances because they’ve completed the pentagram,” I surmise.

Her lips part slightly, and her brow furrows. “Maybe. If they’re trying to use some sort of ritual, then they’ll need to activate it.”

I don’t question how she knows that. It’s inconsequential to me right now. I can interrogate her later, even though her disclosure of this information makes me less likely to think she’s involved. Simulating some sort of weird witchy ritual is exactly what someone would do if they wanted to frame Carolina and Camila, given their reputation .

“How would they activate it?”

“Hmm?” She blinks, coming out of her daze.

“If they wanted to activate the symbol or whatever…how would they?”

“Oh, uh…hypothetically…I’d guess by doing whatever they’re doing in the center of the shape. I think it’d be roughly around here, but you’d need to map it out more accurately.”

“And hypothetically…to activate it, they’d need to perform the ritual again?” Carolina nods slowly. “So that might mean another missing person?”

“I don’t?—”

I stand abruptly, causing Carolina to take a step back. She was close enough that I could smell the cinnamon and vanilla scent coming off her skin, but I needed to go.

I had to check out the fifth possible location to determine where I’d need to be posted this evening. My gut was telling me this was the something I had been waiting for. The first real lead since I got here.

“Thanks for your help,” I tell Carolina as I pack up my things and head toward the door.

“Uh, no problem.”