Chapter 26 Starlings and Bourbon
"You were in a relationship with Bentley Goran for four months in Orlando, Florida is that correct?"
"The name should have been enough of a red flag," she responded. She'd been questioned already twice; same questions, same answers.
"This isn't a joke, Miss Willow."
She tilted her head to look at the chief across from her. He had been professional, stoic was the word that came to mind with her few interactions with him. There was something different about him but he hadn't been unkind and for that she could thank him.
"You know, I always thought it interesting that we differentiate between a single and a married woman, but not a man. You're simply 'Mr.' no matter your relational status. As if the title before our name will determine what level of respect we will receive, what level of merit we will have."
He didn't respond.
She sighed. "I know this isn't a joke, Chief Landry. And you've not treated me as a 'Miss'. So thank you. And yes, we dated."
A pause for her gratefulness was noted. Then he dove back in.
"And then you ended things."
"Yes."
"Why?"
She sighed, tired of these questions. Tired of this man being any part of her life, let alone this large a part, this detrimental. "I found out he was married, had been married for over a decade." She looked down at her hands and added softly, "With kids."
"And then his wife came to see you at your cafe."
She nodded slowly.
"I need you to verbally answer, Miss Willow."
She let out a breath. "Yes."
"And what happened?"
More than any other moment in that relationship, even when she had to fight for breath and her life, his wife coming into the cafe was the most clear.
The one that haunted her.
She was pretty. Blonde, petite, wore her shoulders in a way that said she forgot who she was.
It was in the way she looked at Eloise, the way her eyes took in the woman who turned her husband's head.
She was sure she hadn't been the only "other" in his life; not with the ease with which he had lied to her, hid his real life like he had practiced. Hid his true monster.
Her blue eyes were the kind of tired that was sad, faded; a sadness that permeated over years, sunk into the her and part of her bloodstream. Sadness was now a part of her.
She ordered a coffee with cream and then asked.
Eloise had wondered later if that had been the bravest moment in this woman's life.
She remembered the fear. The shock. The way her heart beat so hard, but then how it had slowed down in recognition of this woman's hurt, and how she had been a part of that.
She'd untied her apron and taken her to the the back alley where she had been diligent in keeping it clean and kept a few potted plants and a cafe table with chairs for any baristas needing a quiet place for their breaks.
And they sat there, between the stucco walls of her cafe and the wild bird store next door and the woman didn't cry, but accepted what lies he had told Eloise.
"You know what happened next," she said to the chief.
The chief leaned forward, his eyes on hers. "She took her own life that night."
She stared at the chief, making sure he felt her words. "No, she didn't. He took her life."
"There's no evidence backing that conclusion."
She smiled sadly. "Yes, well, when you don't look for evidence it's pretty hard to find it."
He looked down at a brown folder, opening it silently. A minute passed. "And you told the officers that you thought he killed her."
"Yes."
"And he attacked you that night."
A tightening in her chest. Hands around her throat. Flashes of life, flashes of smell. "Yes."
"The officers took your statement, you got treated at the local urgent care, they followed up once and that was the extent of your knowledge as far as that investigation went."
She swallowed a lump in her throat, nodded, then said, "Yes," remembering his direction from earlier. Verbal answers needed.
He tapped the page, his eyes looking over words before he closed it and looked back at her. The sound of the chair moving across the linoleum floor made her close her eyes.
"Thank you, Miss Willow. Hang tight."
When his back was to her, his hand on the handle of the door she said, "Iris. Her name was Iris." She felt a clawing need to name her.
He turned then. The look in his eyes said he understood. It said that he, too, had experience with this. He dipped his head and said, gently, "Iris."
They shared a silent moment. A prayer.
And then she was alone in the room again.
"Jen," Kelsea said, waving a hand in front of her face. They were sitting around Jen's living room digesting what Ursula had told them.
After Eloise had been taken to the station, Ursula texted the group a vague SOS with the need to meet somewhere other than The Lost Souls House. It had already been a few hours, Ursula worrying over each minute her friend was in that station.
Jen finally looked up at them and she had an odd look on her face that fell away as she rolled her eyes. "Don't mind me. I'm just salty that crazy witch called us sad and silly and that our hexes are lame."
Kelsea leaned into her and stretched the blanket from her lap over Jen's. "I think your cat hex is great."
"Thank you." She pinched Kelsea's cheek affectionately.
"Ladies, we need to finish this." The statement came from Crystal who was sitting in a light blue armchair, one leg elegantly crossed over the other and one of her hands lightly rubbing the thin, gold bracelets on her wrist. "Cassidy Parker was a menace the moment she swept into town, and was a menace until she was run out of it. "
"Yeah, what happened there? I don't remember hearing much about her when I moved here," Tilly said. She was sitting curled up into one corner of the large sofa behind where Kelsea and Jen were sitting in front of her on the floor.
Crystal made a thoughtful face and reached back into her memory.
"It was a while ago. I remember she inherited the house from an ancestor, but I got the impression she hadn't been very close to that family member.
She was odd, for sure. Which wouldn't have been a problem, but she had a penchant for creating drama.
She had a way of finding a loose thread and pulling until everything unraveled. "
"What kind of drama?"
"Oh, she broke up a marriage or two. She liked to make women feel uncomfortable in the way that is tacky."
"Not a woman's woman," Jen said.
Ursula made a low sound in her throat in agreement.
"Correct. There were rumors about her graveyard dailiances at The Lost Souls, too. Beloved pets of people in town she didn't get along with went missing for a string of time."
A few gasps were heard around the living room. Tilly's eyes were wide behind her cat-eye glasses. Kelsea had a hand to her mouth.
"She wasn't pleasant. And of course you know about our Jenson and Taylor, poor dears. And she wasn't wrong about Taylor's father. Nasty man," she said shaking her head. "What he put Taylor and his mother through was unforgivable."
Crystal thought back to late evening visits to Taylor's house with a pan of fudgy espresso brownies and carefully crafted tonics for his mom's inside and outside bruises.
"I say we hex her," Jen said.
"I have a feeling she wouldn't be easy to hex; if she's worked with darker magic she's protected herself," Crystal said thoughtfully.
Four women shared a look and then looked at the older woman in curiosity.
"And what do you know about dark magic?" Ursula asked.
Crystal tilted her head, her pretty clear eyes touching hers and a secretive smile lifted her lips.
"I know enough."
"I knew it!" Jen said. "Tell us everything."
Officer Craig Peterson brought Eloise a scalding hot coffee and a snide comment, said in another language she could not understand, but the intent was clear.
She remained silent and kept the weak-smelling coffee untouched on the table where she sat for another hour.
She didn't admit to killing anyone. But she told them no one else was involved.
She gave them Cassidy Parker's name, with little hope that they would look into her.
Her experience with police was shallow and disappointing. But she held onto hope for her friends.
There was an empty seat across from where Jessica sat reading a book and drinking her decaf honey latte.
Twice a week she came to The Black Cat after her mother-in-law came to dote on them to get herself a hot drink, sit and read, and relish in her new life.
While her relationship with Rob's mom wasn't warm, the woman had done the right thing standing up for Jessica and the kids in the face of Rob's scandals.
Which were many. So, she'd slowly let her stay in their lives until they worked up to this tradition of twice a week her coming over to do the kids' dinner and bedtime routine.
There were small things she started doing again that felt big after leaving Rob.
She remembered the first time she went to the local bookstore with a Black Cat coffee in hand and meandered through the aisles trying to figure out what kind of adventure she should jump into. She hadn't picked up reading in years.
She hadn't done many things for mere pleasure in years.
Including Rob.
That was what happened to a woman who felt taken prisoner in her life with a man who made sure she felt less than, disposable, silly; pleasurable pastimes felt like trifling moments stolen for a person who didn't deserve them.
She'd run her hands over the spines of books in every genre, unsure, slightly overwhelmed. So, she picked one in six different genres and took her time with each, lovingly flipping pages with her perfectly crafted latte two days a week until she became hooked.
She realized which genre made her feel like she could sink into who she was, which writing wove around her shoulders like a cardigan, and what kind of characters made her feel seen.
That was the beauty of books: different people found different magic in the same pages.