Coven

The headless corpse stood upright, even closed the door behind it. One of its hands still gripped a Spaten Oktoberfest. It faced Wade, or would be if it had a face. Wade’s bladder voided then, as the headless corpse of Tom McGuire began to confidently cross the road.

A horn shrieked, along with tremors and a roar like thunder. Instantly a log loaded eighteen wheeled Peterbilt barreled through the bend with no chance of stopping for the perplexed thing that stood in the middle of the road. The massive front grille mowed Tom’s body down with an ear splitting whap!, then fed the crumpled corpse into its axles. The body tumbled like a doll in a dryer and eventually became lodged by its legs in the truck’s spare tire rack, trapped. Wade noticed Vermont plates on the rig’s loaded trailer. Tom’s body was going for a long ride. As quickly as the truck had appeared, it was gone.

Wade remained limp at the shoulder, half in shock and easily doubting his own sanity.

He looked down again at Tom’s head.

Its eyes flew open, and its lips spoke: “Goddamn it, Wade! I told you to be careful around those bends!”

Wade screamed, kicked the head into the woods, and ran.

—

CHAPTER 21

White’s office was locked, which worked out for the best. Lydia was determined to tell him nothing until she’d acquired enough evidence on her own to make a case, and not just this business with the hewer, but the break in at the clinic and the Erblings’ dorm. Something was seriously wrong around here. Lydia didn’t trust White. She didn’t trust anyone.

She’d passed the exhibits many times, never taking any notice. Colonial relics weren’t exactly a turn on for her. But it was a large, impressive display, she saw now. She remembered glancing at it yesterday. Now she roved the glass cases. Of course, she hardly expected to find a hewer’s display space vacant. No one was that lucky. Musket barrels, bent bayonets, and squashed powder horns—here they all were, as Fredrick had promised. Tools and edged weapons occupied the latter cases. Lots of trade axes, froes, and scythes. There were bog scoops from Massachusetts Bay and glass pincers from Williamsburg. Big deal, Lydia thought. Lots of swords too, and an entire case of Conoy arrowheads and tomahawks. The last cast displayed some hewers, but none looked as large as the kind she sought.

One label read: “Hand hewer, Roanoke Island, circa 1587.” But it was puny, like a Cub Scout hatchet.

Next: “Pole hewer, Jamestown, circa 1610.” Much bigger, but the plane of the blade was concaved, not straight.

Here it is, she thought. “Beam  hewer, St. Clement’s Island, circa 1635.” But the hewer’s display space was… vacant.

Lydia’s expression drooped. No one was this lucky?

In seconds, she was in White’s office, dialing the phone. Her excitement rushed her words. “Professor Fredrick, this is Lydia Prentiss again. Who has access to the archaeology exhibits?”

“What?” Fredrick asked. “Access? You mean keys?”

“Yes, sir, I mean keys. Who has the keys?”

“Well, I do, of course. It’s my department.”

“Who else has keys to the display cases? Janitors? Security?”

“No,” Fredrick said. “I’m afraid the only other person on campus with keys is the college public relations executive.”

“Who’s that?”

“Winnifred Saltenstall.”

Lydia gripped the phone so hard her knuckles whitened. “What legitimate reason would she have for taking an artifact?”

“Well, I don’t know. If she’d donated it to a museum, she certainly would’ve notified me first. She may have loaned it to a historical society, or perhaps to an archaeology journal. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Good idea. “Thank you, Professor.”

Lydia hurried out to the cruiser. She blew down Campus Drive and screeched around the Circle. Besser’s Cadillac De Ville was parked in the lot at the sciences center, and so was Winnie’s Maserati 425. Lydia took the staircase up, thinking, She’s probably not here, but when she knocked, a voice invited her in.

Mrs. Saltenstall sat behind an expensive but jumbled desk, a double window at her back. No one else was with her. One hand came from her lap to the blotter, sporting a black ring, like onyx, while an unbecoming black amulet hung about her neck. The amulet reminded Lydia of an inverted crucifix.

“Pardon the interruption, ma’am. I’d like to ask you…”

Was the woman stoned? Her eyes looked funny. The ringed hand remained on the blotter, while the other she kept below the desk. “Oh,” Winnie said in a sleepy drone. Was she hiding her right hand deliberately? “You must be the new police officer.”

“Yes, ma’am. Lydia Prentiss.”

She smiled blearily. “How can I help you, Lydia Prentiss?”

See what twenty years of pot smoking will do to you? Lydia thought. Adult retardation. “I have evidence that a serious crime was committed with an implement on display in the college archaeology exhibit.”

“Implement?”

“Yes, a colonial tool called a beam hewer.”

“Beam hewer?”

“One appears to be missing from the exhibit. It’s clear that the hewer was removed by someone with a key.”

“Key?”

What is this? Fucking Benny Hill? “Professor Fredrick directed me to you. Other than him, you’re the only person on campus with a key.”

Winnifred weirdly touched her amulet. “Oh, a key to the exhibit?”

No, asshole, a key to the city. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

Lydia did, hard pressed not to frown.

“You’re a very attractive woman,” Winnifred said inexplicably. She leaned back, parting her feet. “Are you married?”

“No. But back to the exhibit keys—”

“Are you bi? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Did she just say what I think she said? Lydia reflected. The arm of the woman’s hidden hand seemed to be moving lightly.

“Please don’t be offended, but I find you very desirable. It’s not healthy to suppress our natural urges. If you’re into it—”

This is too much! I came in here asking about a fucking beam hewer, and she wants to make out with me. “I’m not into it,” Lydia said. “I only want to know who took the—” But then she saw something under the desk: a pair of frilled panties.

It was now obvious what Winnifred was doing with her hidden hand. Lydia got up to leave, incredulous.

“Don’t go yet,” Winnie moaned. “I’ll tell you in a minute…”

She placed her feet on the desk edge and brought the ringed hand to her breast. The other hand remained buried beneath her dress.

Agape now, Lydia could only stand and stare.

“I’m coming now,” Winnifred breathed. Her body tensed in the big chair, and she released a long, whining moan, flush-faced.

I have seen everything now, Lydia concluded.

Winnifred’s body went lax. She smiled lazily and put her feet back down. “That was nice,” she said.