“Fine. You got me. It was me. But the question shouldn’t be why it was outside of the Lieutenant’s funeral, it should be why it was at that tree.”
“I’m not in the mood for riddles, Hazel.”
“Or, for seeing clearly, apparently,” she snapped, growing annoyed with me. “ Thealtar—nota shrine—had nothing to do with the Lieutenant, or his death, and everything to do with Lammas, the celebration tonight. But you wouldn’t know that because you only saw what these small-town rednecks told you to see. Witches are evil. Therefore, the shrine must have to do with death. Right?” She pulled a doll from her bag. “This is not a voodoo doll, Jagg. It is not evil, or sinister, or black magic. Lammas is one of the four Greater Sabbats in the Wiccan religion. And this year, it just so happens to fall on a full moon. That’s the reason this year’s festival is so huge. Women and men who practice Wicca have flocked here to celebrate—notto curse.”
She huffed out a breath. “Listen up, because I’m only going to educate you once and hopefully at least one thing I say will get through that dense brain of yours. Lammas is a celebration of the first harvest of the year, a time to give thanks for the past and celebrate the future. It’s the opposite of what you, and everyone else in this town has assumed, Jagg. These ‘voodoo dolls’ are actually called corn dollies and are used to honor the god Lugh, and in my case, those who have had a positive impact in my life over the last year. The altar in the park was a symbol of thanks and celebration, Jagg.”
“Okay, fine, but why the park? Why there? Why not in your backyard?”
“Good question. That tree is sacred to me. It’s where Earl asked me to marry him thirty-four years ago. It’s not the first altar I constructed there—and not the first you’ve missed.”
“Celebration aside, you’d be missing that tree if those candles you’d lit would have caught fire, Hazel. We’re in the middle of a burn ban and one of the hottest heatwaves in history. The grass is like a tinderbox. It wasn’t smart.”
“I was feet away when you walked up. I watched you and Darby the entire time. When he blew out the candles, I left. I wouldn’t have left them burning.” She paused, staring at me in a way that made me feel like an insolent school kid. “What other questions can I clear up for you so that you don’tarrestme?”
“The Black Bandit.”
Something in her eyes flickered.
“You know exactly who the Black Bandit is.”
“Do I?”
“Cut the bullshit, Hazel. You know Arlo and Sunny Harper better than I realized. Tell me why Sunny stole the Cedonia Scrolls.”
“Jagger,listento me.Hearme, son. Not everything is evil and nefarious with bad intentions. Not everything is bad and the reasons behind things are not always what they seem.”
“Hazel, Sunny broke into your store and stole a very precious piece of art that could have made you a lot of money,” I said, feeling like I needed to drill home the point that she didn’t seem to care about.
“That she did.” A grin tugged at the woman’s lips. Not humor, but pride. “She’s a pistol, that one.”
I slid my palms onto the counter, leaned forward. “Why didn’t you call it in? Why let her get away with it?”
“Why do you assume she’s athief,detective?”
I pushed off the counter, turned my back, my hands balling to fists. I sucked in a deep breath and spun back around. “Hazel, I don’t have time for this.”
“Yes, you do, Jagg. Yes you do. Look closer…”
Look closer.Those damn words again.
Briana Morgan and now Hazel De Ville.
Look closer…
“Why do you assume she’s a thief?” Hazel repeated, emphasizing each word.
I suddenly stilled, my racing thoughts slamming into one seemingly-impossible concept like a brick wall.
No.
Nofreakingway.
A smile crossed Hazel’s lips. “There you go. See? Once you stop assuming the worst in people, you see them for what they truly are.”
I blinked, a solid ten seconds ticking by while I wrapped my mind around the earth-shattering thought.
“Say it out loud, Jagg. You know it now. Trust your gut. Say it.”
