The knocking came at the door again. Mumbling to herself, she managed to get her legs off the bed and her feet under her and wove her way across the room and into the living room. From there, she could move along the wall of records, dragging her hand over the milk crates to get to the kitchen and from there to the door.
The door turned out to be harder to open than she remembered. It was like they had made it more complicated since the last time she had had to use it. She played with the knob for a bit but nothing was happening. Finally, she remembered she had a peephole and slid her face up to it, found it, managed to get an eye to it. Outside was her landlord Lacy, and to either side of her those weird sisters of hers. What were their names again? The blonde was Sonny. She remembered that because the sun was yellow and Sonny’s hair was, too. The other was named Morgan or Megan or Mona or something like that. Lacy was holding something, a small tray with a teapot and cups on it.
She moved her head back and tried the door again. Oh yeah, locked. She turned the dead bolt and now it opened just fine.
She swung the door open. “Hey,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Lacy gave a big smile. “I might be wrong, but I had a feeling that maybe you could use some company,” she said.
Heidi gave a slow smile back to her. Wow, she thought, she can’t even tell that I’m high. Or maybe she doesn’t care. “I definitely could,” she said, struggling to keep them in focus.
And then she just stood there. It took Sonny coming forward and pushing her gently to the side for her to understand that she was blocking the door.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the teapot.
“This?” said Lacy. “Oh, just a little something I put together. Calming tea, I guess you could call it.”
“Calming tea,” said Heidi, and nodded.
Sonny suddenly popped into her vision. “But more important,” she said, “there are chocolate chip scones.”
“Nice,” said Heidi. “You ladies know just what I need.”
“Indeed we do,” said the other sister, the one with the name she couldn’t remember. She was the strange one, Heidi remembered, but she couldn’t quite remember what made her strange. She took Heidi by the arm. “Now, let’s see about making you comfortable,” the woman said.
Chapter Forty-five
Francis had spent the day wondering about the killing, going through the meager article, looking for clues. He pulled down book after book, trying to find a link between the name Williams and the witch trials, or something to tie Virginia Williams in some way to Maisie Mather. But there didn’t seem to be anything. The two women were different ages, lived in different parts of town, seemed to be from different social classes as well. But the link had to be there; he was sure of it.
Alice at first wouldn’t talk to him about it, and then when he finally got her to listen she wasn’t much help at first.
“It’s not healthy, Francis, getting obsessed over a murder,” she claimed. “You should just leave it alone.”
But he couldn’t leave it alone. That was the problem. There had to be a connection; even the police knew that. And everything about it pointed back to the witch trials.
“Maybe you wouldn’t think that if you weren’t a historian of the witch trials,” suggested Alice.
“Maybe not,” admitted Francis. “But that’s what I am. There’s got to be a historical link between the two women. There’s a captain mentioned named Williams, but he wasn’t involved in the trials as far as I can tell.”
“You’re looking for the name Williams?” said Alice, surprised.
“Yes, of course,” Francis had said. “Shouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, honey, isn’t that her married name?” said Alice. “Shouldn’t you be looking at her maiden name?”
Yes, of course, how could he have been so stupid? He must be getting old to have made such a ridiculously dumb mistake. But when he managed to track down her maiden name online in the marriage archives of the Salem News, it didn’t tell him anything either.
It was only after poring over dozens of reference books that it occurred to him that her maiden name might not be the right name either. With Alice’s help, he managed to find a website called FIND YOUR FAMILY TREE and after having paid a so-called nominal fee he had Virginia Williams’s family history. He followed the tree back step by step until he came to the name Magnus.
“I’ll be fucked,” he said. “Dean Magnus.”
There was the link. And yes, it was about the witch trials after all. Which meant that Adelheid Hawthorne, as a descendant of Hawthorne’s, was no doubt in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.
“But you don’t believe in witches,” Alice said.
“No,” he said. “No, I don’t.” He pondered. “But it could be something else. There could be a logical explanation for it.”
“What sort of explanation?”
“I don’t know,” he said evasively. He was having a hard time reconciling his satisfaction of having discovered the link with his skepticism about witches. “Somebody setting these women up, maybe. Manipulating them in some way. I’ll know when I see it.”
Chapter Forty-six
On the television Elizabeth Montgomery twitched her nose and her husband found himself unable to get off the couch. It was like he’d been glued to it. The studio audience laughed.
They were watching the TV in Heidi’s bedroom. Heidi had tried to suggest that they could sit in the living room, but one of the three women had said, “Nonsense, dear, we should go where you’ll be most comfortable,” and they’d ushered her through the apartment and back to her bedroom. Sonny had helped her into the bed and fluffed the pillows behind her, and then had taken a seat beside her. Lacy had served Heidi tea and had put the tea service on the floor next to the bed. Then she’d climbed into the bed on the other side of her. It made her feel cozy. The other sister—Megan, it turned out her name was; why had she thought it was Morgan?—brought in a kitchen chair and sat off to one side.
“Have any of you seen my dog?” asked Heidi. “Steve?”
“I’m sure your dog is okay,” said Lacy, patting her arm.
Yes, she thought. He’s probably okay. Good old Steve.
“I just—” she started to say, but Sonny was touching her on the other arm now, lifting her arm up.
“Take a sip of tea, dear,” she said. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“What?” she said, and then said, “Oh.” She let Sonny lift her arm up, and then took over and blew on the top of the mug to cool the tea, and began to sip.
When she looked up, she momentarily had the impression that everyone was staring at her. But no, she thought a moment later, they were all watching the TV—she’d just gotten confused somehow. Why would they be staring at her?
On TV, Samantha’s husband had succeeded in getting off the couch, but only by stepping out of his trousers. He went yelling through the house looking for his wife, but she was already back visiting her more witchy mother.
“God, she was really beautiful,” said Lacy.
Who? wondered Heidi, and then realized she must be talking about the actress who played Samantha, Elizabeth Montgomery. “Yeah, I guess so,” she said. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded really slow to her, like it was oozing out of her. “I never really noticed before,” she continued, “but she really was.”
“Is she still alive?” asked Sonny.