Vera #3
A flash of sadness ripples across Ana’s doll-like features. She wraps her arms around her middle. “I don’t know what happened.
An accident? A virus? Everyone loves Iggy.”
That’s true; even I like Iggy. It’s hard to think of anyone more harmless and normie than Iggy with her aluminum tray of dairy-free,
gluten-free cookies, so sweet and thoughtful. Ana’s opposite in so many ways. An odd friendship, but they seem to complement
each other. Iggy can calm Ana like no one else. Ana connects Iggy to her inner fire, her birthright. Ignatia means fiery one.
Truthfully, though, their friendship has been strained since Iggy married Brock, especially since they had Noah. There was some other argument, too. So maybe Ana is angry at her on some level, jealous and looking to create damage.
I look at my sister and for some reason remember how she used to climb into bed with me at night. For all her wildness, just
a scared little girl, looking for safety.
“So, lots of possible suspects,” I say. “We just have to move the detective in one of those directions and away from you.”
Something flashes across Ana’s face—fear, guilt? It’s gone before I can read it.
“Let’s hope the other members of The Cove don’t draw any unfortunate conclusions,” says Lisander, leaning back. There’s something
about the way she says it that gives me a chill.
Ana has the good sense to look a little scared. “I didn’t do this. Any of it.”
“But after everything, what are the chances anyone believes that?” says Lisander.
I reach for my sister’s hand again. It’s cold. She squeezes tight.
The Cove is a self-governing body of herbalists and healers. At one point, Agnes was at the helm. Lisander was next in line
to take her place. But before Agnes’s death, she named someone else to succeed her. Someone who didn’t want the seat. So,
there’s been a kind of council running The Cove, with Lisander as the default leader since she has the most experience.
Under new leadership, the rules are strict. Their punishments unforgiving. If Ana has broken code again, we’ll both be in
trouble.
The three of us sit in silence for a moment. The hanging pots knock softly against each other in a draft, making a low clatter
that sounds vaguely like voices.
“Payton called,” says Ana into the heavy silence. “Our appointment with the detective is at 9:00 a.m. Victor will pick you
up, then me.”
“Ana,” says Lisander. There’s antipathy between them, always has been. They were in competition with each other for Agnes’s favor. Ana’s natural talent drawing Agnes’s admiration in a way that Lisander’s devotion to The Knowledge didn’t seem to.
Ana’s too impulsive, Agnes told me. Lisander maybe lacks her gifts, but she makes up for it with diligence, with care. Vera, you are the natural person to lead
The Cove when I am gone.
Never, I told her. I don’t want this life.
Some of us don’t get to choose. We are chosen.
You can’t make me into something I’m not.
And you can’t turn away from the truth of your heritage. The Cove needs you, Vera.
This was a very typical row between Agnes and me; it’s not lost on me that Coraline and I have a similarly heated argument
now, just with the sides reversed. And my daughter is every bit as stubborn and immoveable as I am.
“Ana,” says Lisander again.
Ana is staring at her phone now, purposely ignoring her. Who is she texting with? If I know my sister, she probably already
has another boyfriend. She’s never gone more than a few weeks in her adult life without a man.
“If there’s something you need to tell us,” Lisander goes on, even though Ana doesn’t acknowledge her, “do it now while we
can still fix this.”
Ana looks up, wraps her arms around her middle again. “Somebody was at Agnes’s. In her office and in the garden. There are materials missing. The hemlock stores were depleted.”
I feel a little jolt of alarm. “What? Who was there?”
“How should I know?” Her voice has gone a little shrill. “Who has access? You do and I do. That’s it, right?”
She looks at Lisander, who is frowning deeply, hands wringing again. Ana dangles her key ring. “My key is right here. I always
have it with me.”
Mine is on a hook in the laundry room by the door to the garage. I tell her as much.
“So,” she says. “Anyone at the brunch might have taken it. Or anyone who has access to your house. The maid. The handyman. The kids, their friends. Brad, anyone who comes to his poker games.”
For some reason my conversation with Coraline rings back. Can I help? What did she mean? Could she have made the doll I found on my porch? And if so, what else is she up to?
I shake my head. “No.”
But yes, that’s true. I should have safeguarded that key. But I have let thoughts of Agnes and The Cove drift away. My life
is busy, grounded in the now, rooted in the immediate care of my family and our life—the meals, the house, the kids’ various
mini-dramas. I don’t have time for The Cove. I don’t think much about cures and salves, tinctures and potions. Today is the
first time I’ve been in the basement in ages. Though I keep my hand in with various healing teas, which I make with herbs
from Agnes’s garden. I certainly don’t think about what Agnes called “cures.” I don’t think about poison.
“Is the key there now?” asks Ana.
“Of course.” I’d have noticed if it was gone. Wouldn’t I?
She looks back and forth between Lisander and me. “Why are you two always willing to think the worst of me?”
Lisander lets out a little laugh. “Are you really asking that, Ana?”
Ana stands. Her icy veneer is back. “I didn’t do this and I’m going to find out who did.”
She grabs her bag and moves toward the door.
“Be careful,” I say. Because what else can I say? She’s a grown woman; she’ll do what she wants, what she needs to do. I can’t
save Ana from her worst excesses. Lord knows I have tried. “And be ready when Victor and I pick you up tomorrow.”
She pauses, doesn’t turn around, then keeps walking, closing the door behind her with a quiet click.
“She’s been trying,” I say. “She’s matured. A lot.”
“I hope you’re right. For all of our sakes.”
Lisander’s expression is stern, her bearing steely. There’s a coldness to her that Agnes never had. Ana’s headlights sweep
the room, then disappear.
I feel the first lick of real fear.
Our appointment with Detective Bandeau tomorrow is quite frankly the least of our worries.