Setting the cane aside, I followed her through the narrow aisles, dodging boxes of herbs yet unpacked. She talked as we made our way. “There are four elements: air, earth, water, and fire. The athalme represents the air element. It is used to separate sacred ground from the rest.”

“Separate it?”

“The athalme is used to draw a circle on the ground in an unbroken manner. It is never used to cut anything. Another knife is needed for cutting herbs and so on.”

We came to a glass case filled with knives. Most had long, black handles. Zoe explained that most athalmes were black-handled. I glanced over some white-handled knives, and then my eyes came to rest on something that made me stand stock-still.

A knife with an animal foot on its handle.

“Oh, you’ve noticed the deer-foot knife,” she said, seeming embarrassed. “I know, I should get it out of here. Maybe that’s what the dream was about.”

“Deer-foot?”

“Someone convinced me that some witches liked the representation of the goddess in the hoof. I had four of them. This is the only one that’s left, and I don’t think I like it. In fact, I didn’t like the auras of the men who purchased the other three.”

“Were the others purchased all at the same time? By two brothers?”

She looked at me and said, “Yes, I suppose they could have been bothers, though I’m not sure. But they were here at the same time and bought the knives together.”

I described Devon and Raney.

“Yes, that sounds like them. How did you know they were the ones who bought the knives?”

I hesitated. I knew she had been fond of Sammy. I didn’t want Zoe to know that one of the knifes might have been used to kill her. “I’m not sure. Just a feeling that it was something they might do. They’re the ones who did this to me. Well, most of it.”

She sensed my mood change and said, “Well, I told you I had a little something for you.” She pulled two stones out of her pocket. “I hope you will accept these with an open mind.”

One was oblong and dark green, roughly the diameter of a pencil, a little less than two inches long. The other, nearly the diameter of a dime, was rounded and transparent, a light purple color. “Jade and amethyst,” she said, as I took them from her. “Jacob tells me that you have trouble sleeping. The amethyst has long been regarded as able to cure insomnia, relieve pain and tension, even to give prophetic dreams. The ancients believed that jade gives health and long life, accurate judgment, and protection from nightmares. I want you to have these.”

Doubt as I might that two little stones could do all that, the kindness of the gesture was not lost on me. “Thank you, Zoe. I’ll give them a try.”

“I’ll miss Sammy,” she said softly. “She was a bright and eager student of Wicca. She seemed happy just to come in here and ask questions about herbs and spells and charms. I enjoyed her company. May she sleep in bliss until she returns. Blessed be.”

We both stood for a while, thinking our own thoughts. I rolled the stones over in my hand.

“Zoe,” I said, “I’d like to buy that last knife.”

She gave a start, and stared at me. But then she said, “Of course.” She unlocked the case and gave me the knife. It was in a leather sheath and had a brass hilt on it. The fur on the handle was soft and the cloven black hoof on the end was hard and shiny. I couldn’t unsheathe it with one hand, so she drew it out for me. The blade was about five inches long and had a blood groove in it. It looked mean enough, all right. I thought of a similar knife cutting out Sammy’s heart, and felt sick.

Zoe sheathed the knife again and said, “Be very careful, Irene.”

I forced a smile and reached into my pocket. I dropped the stones into it and pulled out the money to pay for the knife.

“No, take it,” Zoe said.

I shook my head. “I’ll pay for it. I don’t want the protection powder working against me as a thief.”

She smiled and took the cash. She gave me my change and put the knife in a bag. I gathered up my cane, then thanked her for the stones and told her I’d let her know if they worked for me.

Outside, Rachel was looking worried, and I felt bad about spending so much time inside the store. “What’s in the bag?” she asked.

“Bambi’s right foot,” I said.

She made a face of pure disgust.

I reached into my pocket and held on to the stones.

35

AS SOON AS WE were back home, Rachel called Frank to let him know what had happened. He was furious with Gannet, but there wasn’t much any of us could do about it.

As the afternoon wore on, I found myself fumbling with the stones in my pockets. It had an odd meditative effect, reminding me somewhat of how it used to feel to handle rosary beads, something I hadn’t done in years. I was able to think things through a little more calmly.

I realized that Gannet would not be trying to intimidate me unless he thought I could in some way connect him to the murders. If he felt safe, he wouldn’t have risked bullying me, especially not out on the streets of downtown Las Piernas. I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was I was supposed to know, but it was clear that he was convinced I could cause him trouble. I mentally replayed the conversations I had overheard in the mountains, all to no avail.

Lydia relieved Rachel from Kelly-duty at about six o’clock that evening. She noticed I was feeling edgy, and so I told her about the events of the afternoon. Since the day I told Jack what had happened in the mountains, I had found it easier to tell other friends about it, so Lydia knew why being caught out on the street with Gannet was upsetting to me. She had some novel ideas about fitting punishments for Mr. Gannet. Italians, I was reminded, had coined the term “vendetta.” Still, as time passed without my being able to determine what Gannet was after, my nervousness increased.

We called out for a pizza, each drinking a glass of red wine while we waited for it. Jack stopped by and asked me if I wanted to go sailing with him late the next afternoon, to try to catch the sunset. I readily agreed. He left, we had a second glass of wine, and the pizza arrived. I was making slow progress through my first piece when Lydia suddenly said, “What if it isn’t Gannet?”

“After the way he acted today?”

“There could be other reasons for that, Irene.”

“Such as?”

“You’re a reporter. It happens all the time – I know this isn’t the first time someone has tried to intimidate you. Maybe he fears that you’ll harm his reputation, write some story about him that will cause him to lose his standing in the community.”

“I don’t believe he’s really worried about that.”

“Sure he is. Or at least, he could be. He’s a businessman. More than that – a developer. He depends on people in City Hall to cooperate with permits and zoning regulations and hand over all sorts of other approvals. If you wrote something implicating him in a murder investigation – especially this one, with Satanism being hinted at – you know no one on the City Council would go anywhere near him.”

“He’s probably got a certificate of ownership for every vote he needs on the council,” I said.

“Cynic.”

“Realist.”

“Even if you’re right, you’ve covered politics long enough to know that buying politicians never comes with a money-back guarantee. Gannet can’t be that sure of their support. Abandoning him might mean some of them would have to scramble for funds from somewhere else, but that’s not as bad as being linked to a homicidal Satanist. Counteracting that kind of bad press is very expensive.”

“Okay, suppose you’re right. He doesn’t want a story to appear. That doesn’t mean he isn’t guilty.”

“No, but it doesn’t mean he is, either.”

“I don’t know, Lydia. I’m not in any shape to write anything up. Why would he be worried, when I’m not even back at the newspaper?”