A Merciful Secret (Mercy Kilpatrick #3)(39)

Ava’s gaze narrowed on him. “What’s the difference?”

Olivia’s death chants whispered in Mercy’s ears.

“Depends who you ask. The lines between the two are blurry. I read a lot of different opinions, but what I primarily gathered is that Wicca is a spiritual practice and focuses on an individual relationship with the divine. There’s a lot of emphasis on the feminine.” He glanced around the house. “Wiccans are big fans of nature. They bring it into their homes and seek harmony with it.” He pointed at several collections of greenery and candles that Mercy had written off as leftover Christmas decor. “Those are pretty fresh and there’s no holiday theme to the candles. It looks like something with a permanent place in the home.”

Mercy silently agreed. “The crafts in the barn also have strong nature elements.”

“So what’s it mean for us?” Ava asked, stepping closer to look at the candles. “There’s a history of visitors seeking magical help, right? Could we be dealing with an angry customer who didn’t get their desired results?”

“A lot of Wiccans don’t cast spells. It’s more about appreciating the gifts of nature.”

“There are spells attached to bags of herbs out in the barn,” Mercy pointed out.

“I suspect they were simply taking advantage of people’s misconceptions. If someone asked if I could help them find love and offered me cash, I’d make something up.” He indicated a worn spot in the rug. “Especially if I needed money.”

“What exactly is the feminine trio thing?” Ava asked.

Eddie rubbed his chin. “I don’t quite remember. Something about a moon goddess who is made up of a crone, a mother, and a maiden.”

Olivia, Salome, and Morrigan. “How much reading did you do?” Mercy was duly impressed.

“Not much. Trust me, I’m no expert.”

“How does it all tie to a judge in Portland?” muttered Ava. She wandered down the hall and halted as she looked through a doorway, her shoulders suddenly tense.

Mercy felt the knot in her gut tighten. I know what’s in there. Ava looked over her shoulder at Mercy, her eyes gentle. “Can you talk me through this?”

Nodding, she joined Ava and tucked her emotions behind a brick wall and recited what she remembered. The blanket that had covered Olivia was gone. So were the pillows. A square of fabric had been cut out of the chair, and a large section of the rug was missing. Black fingerprint dust splotched every surface. Hanging on the wall was another feminine trio silhouette. Mercy looked at it with new understanding and then noticed that candles sat on several surfaces. She wondered if they were for worship, not light.

The three of them stood in silence as Mercy gazed at the blood-soaked chair. I hope your pain is gone, Olivia.

After a few respectful moments, Ava asked to see the room of knives. Mercy led the way.

“Are knives common in Wicca, Eddie?” Mercy asked as she watched Ava’s eyes widen at the huge array of blades.

“I remember some mention of knives, but I don’t think it is a huge element.” He leaned close to study an elaborate handle. “This is an insane collection. The photos didn’t do it justice.”

Ava’s sharp gaze traveled over the shelves of glass jars, her lips pressed in a tight line. “Nothing came back as poisonous so far, but they haven’t checked all the samples. I understand Morrigan was the one who mentioned poison on the blades?”

“That’s correct,” Mercy said.

“I’d like to know where the murder weapon ended up,” Ava said. “And determine if the same blade was used on the judge.”

“Have the medical examiners given an opinion on that?” Mercy asked.

Regret crossed Ava’s face. “All they can say is that it’s inconclusive . . . but that doesn’t rule it out.” She exhaled. “Show me the barn.”

Relief and light filled Mercy as she stepped out of the home. An overwhelming sense of sadness had permeated the air inside the house, and she wondered if Salome and Morrigan would ever live in the home again. If it’d been my mother, I couldn’t. But perhaps Salome had no other options. Mercy slid open the barn door and welcomed its rush of scents; they were the smells of the living. Hay, animals, dirt, and even manure. The atmosphere of life soothed her after the deathly air of the house.

If this is the reverence Wiccans feel for nature, I understand.

The pygmy goats pressed their noses between the boards, begging for attention, and Mercy was pleased to see a pile of fresh alfalfa and some grain in a low trough. Ava leaned over the pen wall to scratch eager heads, delight on her face. “Gosh, they’re cute.”

Mercy moved closer to pet one and caught her breath, staring at the black goat. It had a pink bow tied around one ear. Two days earlier Mercy had watched another goat yank the bow off its ear, and Morrigan had rolled her eyes in exasperation because she’d just tied it on. When they’d left the barn, the ribbon had been draped over the rail, out of the reach of the goats.

“They were here,” she announced, unable to pull her gaze off the cheerful black goat nuzzling Ava’s hand.

“How do you know?” Eddie asked, and Mercy shared her story of sitting in the pen with Morrigan and the goats.

“I don’t think any of the county deputies would bother to tie a bow on the goat’s ear,” she pointed out.