Nemesis (FBI Thriller #19)(43)
“I changed the plugs,” Walter said.
Mrs. Givens chuckled, shook her head. She had a glossy brown ponytail, the same color as her daughter’s. “I fix hair in my home, Agent Savich, and one of my clients’ daughters saw her do it. That’s how Walter found out.” She stopped cold, paled, then shook her head, as if disbelieving what she’d said.
Savich kept his voice calm, even. “I need you to tell me if any of you have harmed or angered or injured anyone in any way, anyone who might have a reason to strike out at you or your family.” He saw they were confused, knew they believed Walter had suffered some sort of fit. “Indulge me on this,” he said. “Are you in conflict with anyone, Walter? Mr. Givens?” He nodded toward Mrs. Givens and Lisa Ann.
Lisa Ann opened her mouth, then shook her head.
Savich leaned toward her. “What, Lisa Ann?”
“It just popped into my head, but it’s silly. Tanny Alcott said she hated me. She hit me with a football once on purpose because I told on her.”
“Whatever was that about?” her mother asked her. “Goodness, Tanny’s only ten years old.”
Savich said, “What did she do?”
“One day when I was visiting the grade school, I was in the restroom and there was Tanny, making fun of another little girl. She’d had leukemia and her hair was just starting to grow back because of her chemotherapy. Tanny said she wouldn’t stop it when I asked her to and I couldn’t make her, so I told their teacher, Mrs. Abrams. I called her a mean little witch. She gave me this freak-weird look and said she’d get me for that. That’s when she said she hated me.”
“Why did you call her a witch?” Savich asked.
“Everyone in Plackett knows the Alcotts are witches. Well, Mrs. Alcott says she’s a Wiccan, so I guess she’s not a bad witch.”
Savich nodded, turned to Walter. “Has anything like that happened between you and any of the Alcotts, Walter?”
Walter shook his head, but Mr. Givens said, “Wait, Walter, remember when you were at The Gulf and got into a fight with Liggert Alcott?”
“Yeah, I remember. What happened was I saw him hit his kid, Teddy, outside the feed store last month and I told him to stop it. A week later we got into it at The Gulf. He was drunk, so Deputy Lewis hauled him off to spend the night in jail. He let me go because everyone backed me up, said Liggert was the one who started it.”
“Walter,” Savich said, “did Sparky Carroll ever harm the Alcotts in any way you know of?”
Walter thought, shook his head. “I’m sorry. Agent Savich, I can’t think of a thing. He and Brakey and I were friends all through school. Sparky and I were in and out of the Alcott house when we were kids. There was never any trouble. We always thought the Alcotts calling themselves Wiccans was funny. Sparky and I drifted away from Brakey when we got older, you know how that goes. We had less in common.”
Mrs. Givens said, “There’s Liggert. He’s older and a bully. He hits his wife, too, if what I’ve heard from my ladies is true.”
Walter said, almost in a whisper, “Sparky was one of my best friends, ever since we were kids. How could I have killed him, Agent Savich? And why?”
It was almost the same question Brakey had asked him.
PLACKETT, VIRGINIA
Friday evening
The front door at the Alcotts’ flew open. “Brakey!”
Griffin recognized Deliah Alcott easily from Savich’s description. She picked up her gauzy skirt and ran to her son, hugging him close. She ran her fingers through his hair, held his face between her hands, and asked him, “Are you all right, Brakey? Did you remember what happened? Why are you smiling? Did they prove you didn’t kill Deputy Lewis?”
Brakey put his hands on his mother’s arms, gently pushing her back. “I didn’t remember anything, but it’s okay, really. It turns out they can’t hypnotize me, but they let me come home anyway. Agent Hammersmith brought me, and look”—he bent down and pulled up the leg of his jeans—“I’ve got to wear this ankle bracelet until they find out who killed Deputy Lewis. That’s it. Otherwise I’m free to do as I please, Agent Savich told me.”
Deliah Abbott stared from that ankle bracelet to Griffin. She took Brakey’s hand. “Don’t show that bracelet off to anyone else, okay, Brakey? We don’t want people talking any more than they already are.”
Deliah Alcott turned fierce eyes to Griffin. “You’re Agent Hammersmith?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Griffin handed her his creds. “And you’re Brakey’s mom, Mrs. Alcott.”
“Yes.” She walked right up to him, got in his face. “Why is he wearing an ankle bracelet? Do you think he’s going to run off?”
“We need to know where he goes, Mrs. Alcott, that’s all. He’s having trouble remembering, and there’s a killer out there. It’s for his protection, too.”
“Bring him in, Morgana. I want to see the boy who’s brought Brakey home, too,” came a scratchy old voice from behind Mrs. Alcott.
Deliah gave Griffin a long look, then ushered him past the elaborate wooden front door with the pentacle hanging on it, over a wide threshold that would easily allow a wheelchair through it, and into the large entry hall that smelled faintly of sweet incense.