Chapter 67
Ingrid dreamed of a city of castoffs. The debtors, the thieves, the confidence men, and witches.
She dreamed of the homes they cleaned. The offices in which they answered phones and filed documents.
The restaurants where they scooped up the coins tossed their way.
The alleyways where they told the wealthy the truth of who they were.
The castoffs gave themselves away to the people of Savannah, over and over and over again, but they danced while they did it.
They danced all through the streets of the town, forming an endless, shambolic parade.
Like boats on a river that wound their way up and down the blocks and slipped past the squares, on their slow journey toward the sea.
The wealthy watched the procession from the porches of their mansions, admiring the show.
What they didn’t know, what they didn’t see, was that the castoffs were the blood of the city, pumping through its system of gridlike veins.
The wealthy in their houses, they were the pirates, perched in their crow’s nests, shadowing the castoffs.
Watching and waiting, false flags flying.
Waiting and watching for the moment when they could slip alongside one of the castoffs and take everything.
A breath, a whisper, tickling her ear. Edie. “Look.”
She turned and there was Miles, standing in the window of the Loeffler mansion as the parade passed.
He was dressed in her grandpa’s old burgundy suit with the blue ruffled shirt.
He held a knife, Rill’s Khanjali dagger.
The suit, she realized, was wet, liquid dripping from it to the floor beneath Miles’s feet.
The liquid ran under the massive front door of the house.
It leaked over the porch and down the steps, pooling on the sidewalk as the parade danced on.
Blood.
Miles, with his lithe body, ocean eyes, and perpetual tan. He’d always looked to her like a poor unfortunate boy taken at sea, but now she knew she’d been wrong.
“You know what I always say.” Edie’s breath tickled her ear again. “Pirates fly flags that belong to another.”
He hadn’t been kidnapped by Blackbeard.
He was Blackbeard.
She woke with a gasp, the dew blanketing her skin and hair and clothes. Then, just as quickly, as she lay motionless on the ground, she felt the Goddess dry it again with the warm beams of her sunlight. She felt washed clean and tenderly dried as if by an invisible mother.
Ingrid sat up and scrubbed at her eyes, Cas’s watch clanking comfortingly against her arm.
The cemetery glimmered in the morning sun—a peaceful sanctuary of stone and moss, serenaded by choirs of birds.
She kissed the tips of her fingers and pressed them against the headstone. Right on the carved name Edith.
“Good morning,” she whispered.
She stood. Smoothed her blouse and straightened her skirt, which had twisted halfway around her waist. She picked her headscarf up from the ground, brushed the dirt from it, and tucked it into her pocket.
She had dreamed a dream of her city, and now she knew what she had to do.
But first, breakfast. She was craving chocolate chip pancakes, extra-crispy bacon, and as many cups of piping hot coffee as she could down.
She would stop by Clary’s Café on her way.
She found her phone, which thankfully showed just enough battery to call a car, and then headed toward the gates of the cemetery, which were flung wide open now.
After paying for her breakfast, she headed south on Habersham. Through Lafayette Park, past East Taylor and Dean Remington’s house and into Taylor Park. On the light, she crossed busy Oglethorpe, spotting the person she’d come to see.
The woman stood right there on the sidewalk, just outside the red brick police station. Tall, rangy, and blond, dressed in dark trousers and a crisp blue shirt, she could have been a model in her younger days. She turned, saw Ingrid, and smiled in recognition.
“Hi, Detective Lowe.” Ingrid offered her hand. “Ingrid White.”
“That’s right.” Lowe clasped her hand. “The psychic-witch.”
“Yes. I was just heading over here to talk with you.”
“That so?” Lowe tilted her head. “What about?”
“I keep thinking about something we discussed the day you and Detective Shannon interviewed me at the Loeffler house.”
“The thing about exhuming a body?”
Ingrid smiled easily. “No. Not that. It was something else I mentioned—that I might be of some help with the investigation. If you were interested.”
Lowe’s eyes lit with interest.
“I’d like to offer my services to the Savannah Police Department … to help you find Rill and Cas Loeffler’s killer.”
Lowe’s face went stony. She pressed her lips together. “They’ve arrested someone.”
“I know, but he didn’t do it. That guy. Boney.”
Lowe inhaled and smiled in a perfunctory way. “Well, I appreciate the offer, but unfortunately, I’m no longer on the case.”
“Wait, why?”
“Why don’t you call Detective Shannon? He’d be happy to talk with you.” She gave Ingrid a brisk nod and turned toward the station.
Ingrid grabbed her arm. “But I really want to talk to you.”
“Sorry. I can’t help you.”
Ingrid held her breath. Tried to focus on Edie and the light.
I gather, I gather, I gather …
She saw Edie, standing before one of the sunny windows of their house, positioning Ingrid’s small body in the block of light. Explaining its properties.
That’s how magic works, Budgie.
Being a witch is learning how to pay attention and connecting to everything and everyone around you.
And then she saw it.
A photograph, sitting on a windowsill. A window that overlooked the river and Talmadge Bridge. Two kids, arms draped over each other, grinning an identical, troublemaker smile.
She looked at the woman’s left hand and saw the wedding band.
“Oh,” she said, her voice full of wonder. Her eyes locked on the detective. “It’s Boney. Tristan Anderson. He’s your little brother. That’s why they took you off the case.”
She hesitated. “He told you?”
“No, but … I did see a picture once. But that’s it. He and I never talked about you. I just made the connection. Just now.”
She let out a caustic laugh. Nodded. “We haven’t really been on speaking terms lately. Diametrically opposed life goals and all,” she said wryly. “But he’s in trouble now, Ingrid. Big trouble.”
“He didn’t do it,” Ingrid said. “But I guarantee he knows who did. You’ll never find Rill Loeffler’s stolen pirate’s dirk. Dagger, whatever, that was taken from his study. I’m guessing it’s probably at the bottom of the river.”
Lowe watched her.
“But not everything sinks. Some things float … or could wash up on shore … so they would have to be burned.”
Lowe’s eyes were flashing now. “I’m listening.”
Ingrid only paused for a second, maybe two, but it felt like an eternity. It wasn’t that she didn’t still love Miles. Maybe she always would, but she had been wrong about so much. It had been Sailor all along—the girl with everything—whom the universe had brought to Ingrid’s doorstep.
But now Sailor was living with Miles, the very person who had murdered her father and brother so he could inherit the family fortune. Sailor wasn’t safe—she never would be, not with Miles free.
Ingrid would have to be her ballast.
She swallowed uneasily and looked at Lowe. The woman was waiting patiently for her to speak, unaware that the next thing Ingrid said was going to change everything.
“There’s a spot I know about,” she said quietly. “A spot I think you should check. The knife won’t be there, nor will the suit he wore that night because he’s probably already burned it by now. But …” She caught her breath, willing herself not to cry.
Oh, Miles, Miles, I’m sorry …
But this wasn’t her doing. No. This was his responsibility. Miles had done all this and now his fate was locked in.
“… I’m pretty sure he stored the jacket there for a little while because it was covered in blood, and he couldn’t carry it around town with him …”
Deep breath.
“… he’s messy. He won’t have cleaned the spot very well …”
Another breath. It was getting easier now.
“There will be traces of blood. Cas and Rill Loeffler’s blood.”
Lowe’s lips partly slightly. “Where is this spot exactly?”
“The Lucas Theatre,” Ingrid said. “Down below the screen. At the edge of the stage. There’s a secret compartment there that Miles Drummond showed me once.
Big enough for him to have hidden his clothes and the murder weapon before he got rid of them.
You should test the compartment. Test it for blood. ”