Sam grinned, as well. “I’m from here, actually.”

“That’s right. I’d forgotten. I’m actually from Marblehead.”

“Beautiful place, and around the corner,” Sam said.

Yates nodded. “Listen, I’m more than happy to help you-I’m just not sure how.”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you could explain to me what happened between your son, David, and Malachi Smith.”

Yates sighed, looking down at his folded hands. “Well, I bet you know the basic story of the staring and the lunch tray and whatnot. But it’s something I never understood-and wanted to forget. And, of course, I was worried sick about my own boy, but furious with the whole group of his friends for teasing that poor Smith kid so mercilessly.”

“How badly was your son hurt?” Sam asked.

“He spent a night in the hospital, mostly precautionary. There was no major damage done, and he did it himself. He told me that Malachi gave him the evil eye, and every one of his friends agreed, of course. But I never really knew what to think… I love my son, of course, Mr. Hall.”

“Sam, since you’re Andy.”

“Sam,” Yates said. He shook his head, as if still in bewilderment three years later. “I took David to a doctor, of course. A psychiatrist.”

“Not Jamie O’Neill?” Sam asked.

“Jamie O’Neill is the best in the area, in my opinion. But my wife didn’t want any kind of a conflict of interest. We took him to a Dr. Hawkins at UMass. Hawkins told us that suggestion could make people do all kinds of things. If David believed that Malachi Smith was giving him the evil eye, it was real in his own mind.”

“You didn’t harbor any ill will toward Malachi?”

Yates sniffed. “The kid? No. I blamed it on the parents. Strict-and maybe they bought into those house legends or something. You know, I tried to buy the house. Old Abraham wouldn’t sell. And then I tried to forget the whole lunchroom thing. I mean, there was really nothing to be done. On the council here, we’re always trying to keep a good balance going between our population of traditionalists, Wiccans, atheists-hell, you name it. The world moves on, you know? I thought that social services should have moved in, but apparently the Smiths didn’t beat the kid, they didn’t do anything illegal. They were just ridiculously strict, from what I hear. No one could help Malachi. Frankly, I’m not surprised that the boy finally freaked out and lashed out on his folks.”

“Yes, but you know, I assume, that the police were watching him in the cases of the farmer, Peter Andres, killed in Andover, and the neighbor, Earnest Covington, who was just killed last week.”

“Well, Peter had been a substitute at his school, and, as far as I know, he was well enough liked. Maybe Malachi, in that crazy mind his parents created, thought that Peter was responsible for his misery.”

“What about the neighbor?”

“Maybe he saw Malachi doing weird things, who the hell knows? Look at me-I’m no cop!” Yates chuckled. “But, look, I believe in justice, and I don’t loathe you for defending him. I’m assuming you’ll work on an insanity plea, and I’m sure you’ll do well. Trust me, I’d hate to see him thrown into a hardened prison population, but when it comes to locking up the boy, I’m all for it. I feel sorry for him, but I don’t want him loose.”

Sam decided not to tell Andy Yates that Malachi Smith claimed to be innocent.

“Would you mind if I talked to your son, Andy?” he asked.

Yates laughed softly. “I wouldn’t mind-but you’ll have to talk to my wife. Our two kids are her life-she’s a veritable barracuda when it comes to them.” He paused, scratching out a number on a piece of paper. “You call her-I have to live with her!”

Sam smiled and accepted the piece of paper. He was definitely interested in meeting the boy who had beaten himself in the head because of Malachi’s evil eye.

He exchanged a pleasant set of goodbyes with the councilman and dialed the number right after he left the office. Mrs. Yates hung up the minute he identified himself. He tried again. This time, she had a few words for him.

“You leave me alone! Don’t you dare go near my son-you’re slime, pure slime! You think you’re a hotshot, getting killers off? Well, you stay the hell away from my son. I’ll have you arrested if I hear that you’re within a hundred yards of him. You go to hell, Mr. Hall. You’re trying to defend the devil, and you’re a demon yourself for doing it! You’re a crooked, money-grubbing bastard, and you will stay the hell away from my son!”

Again, the phone went dead.

Sam wasn’t sure if he was amused or dismayed. He decided to start at it all from a different angle. Surely, there was someone out there who wasn’t entirely biased.

He hesitated, and then put in a call to Jenna Duffy.

“What are you doing?” he asked her.

He thought that she hesitated a minute. “I came out to see the Andres home in Andover,” she said.

He frowned. “Alone?” He didn’t know why that worried him. It was broad daylight and, according to everyone, Peter Andres’s murderer was in custody.

Did he believe that himself now? He just didn’t know.

“I called the Realtor,” Jenna said. “She’s nice. I admitted I was looking into the case-on my uncle’s behalf. She was okay with it after I explained. I’m not sure she believes she’s ever going to sell the house anyway, unless she finds someone with a really morbid curiosity.”

“Anything helpful? What did you see?”

“I’ve seen the house and the barn where he was killed. It’s wiped clean,” she added. “And you?”

“I was thinking of shopping and sightseeing. Actually, there’s one old friend I want to stop in on-at a witchcraft shop on Essex Street. Want to come?”

“Sightseeing and shopping,” she said drily. “Sure.”

“I’ll meet you there in thirty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”


“Sam! Sam Hall! I’d heard you were here!”

The words were spoken by a dark-haired young woman standing behind the counter of A Little Bit of Magic. Her pretty features were lit up, and she came walking around the sales station and threw her arms around Sam’s neck and gave him a fierce hug. She pulled away quickly and gave Jenna an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen this boy in a long, long time! Not since the funeral.”

“I haven’t been back since the funeral, Cecilia,” Sam said. “Do you remember Jenna Duffy? She’s Jamie’s niece. I think you two tortured my parents together years ago.”

“Oh! Oh, of course! Jenna-I didn’t recognize you at first. How could I have missed that red hair? I didn’t mean that rudely-it’s beautiful hair. Jenna, how are you?” Cecilia asked, overly emphatically.

“I’m good, thank you, and honestly, Cecilia, I didn’t recognize you at first, either,” Jenna told her. Sam had said they were going to stop in on an old friend. She hadn’t realized that it was a mutual acquaintance. Cecilia Sanderson. She was a year or two older than Jenna, but Salem hadn’t been a big place, and when they were young, she’d lived close to Jamie-and to Sam Hall’s parents’ home. Naturally, the two girls had been thrown together on those occasions when Jenna visited.

Cecilia grinned. “Well, I have changed a great deal. My real hair color is mousy-brown-for some reason, if you run a Wiccan shop, you’re more alluring with very dark hair. And black clothing, of course.”

“Cecilia is a Wiccan now,” Sam explained.

Cecilia elbowed him. “Sam doesn’t believe in anything. We’re a recognized religion.”

“Hey, I just question what you really believe!” Sam said, not offended.

Cecilia waved a hand in the air. “This is really still a small town,” she said. “People talk, and judge. Most of the time, our ‘traditionalists’ are pretty tolerant and grateful that people love coming up here just for the Wiccan shops and curios, and so on and so on. People are more tolerant when there’s money to be had.”

“And,” Sam said, leaning casually on the counter, “you know as well as I do that half the people who come here to open up shop are playing at being Wiccan.”

“Better Wiccan than fanatical!” Cecilia said. “I believe in cause no harm to others. Some fundamentalists of other religions believe in killing in the name of God, Sam.”

He smiled. “I’m not judging you, Cecilia. I promise. I know you’re a good person.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” she said and laughed. “How do you like the shop?”

“It’s really beautiful, so well decorated and laid out,” Jenna told her. She was sincere. The windows were decorated for fall, with shimmering silk flowers and leaves, and mannequins wearing fine velvet Wiccan capes and beautiful silver jewelry. Handsome signs done in curving but legible calligraphy pointed out that herbs and jewelry were in the front, curios and books in the center section and clothing to the rear.

Cecilia smiled. “I always wanted my own shop! Well, it’s almost my own. Do you remember Ivy Summers?” she asked.

“Could I forget?” Sam asked, and rolled his eyes. “She broke my Nintendo!”

Jenna laughed. “I remember Ivy, yes.”

“We actually own the shop together. Ivy is at home, working the computer sales, which are fantastic. We’re really pleased.”

“That’s great,” Sam told her.

“Ah, well, not as great as being an attorney who shows up on the front page of the Huffington Post, CNN-you name it! And now, so I hear, you’re defending the Smith boy!” she said, her voice curious and excited. “Give! Is it true? Sam, that whole family was whacked-out crazy, you know.”

“Cecilia! Would you be judging others?” he asked.

She shrugged. “No. Yes. Well, you have to judge them. Wiccan, Judeo-Christian, whatever! The whole rest of the town thought they were all crazy.”

“But there are people who think you’re crazy,” Sam reminded her. “Sorry, I don’t mean you. I mean all Wiccans.” He smiled broadly.