kidding? Myra will be lucky if that old man manages to stay awake during the trial.” Shelly never had approved of the attorn ey Cassie had hired for her mom, b ut she had to accept the fact that the only other choice had been the public defender, and, given the climate of local sentiment, a public defender was no choice at all.
Mac realized how distressed all of Myra’s followers were at the thought of her being forced to stay in the jail cell, but he couldn’t help but feel that perhaps it was the safest place for her at the moment. Although it was true that not everyone in town was convinced of her guilt, there were enough hard core witch haters around to make him fear for her safety outside of those steel bars. Hell, he was already in a panic over how Cassie and the rest of the coven co uld be protected from some over- zealous nut out to prove himself and save humanity.
He was prevented from making such an observation by the ringing of the telephone. Naomi answered the ph one, listened for a moment, and handed it to Cassie.
“Hello?” Mac could hear the tension in her voice. He realized just how abandoned she must feel at this moment.
He rose to his feet when he saw the color drain from her face. Damn! What more could go wrong? But then her expression changed to one of wonder and utter happiness.
“Oh, Mr. Jacobson, that’s wonderful news! But who paid the bail?”
Realization hit everyone in the room at once. Shelly let out a whoop of joy before Cassie had even replaced the telephone receiver. Naomi and Mary Beth embraced each other, tears of happiness streaming down their cheeks. Edith sat with her head bowed, whispering words of thanks , while Shelly rushed across the room to Cassie.
“Someone paid Mother’s bail!” she squealed in delight. “She should be out of that horrible place in time for dinner.”
“I’m sorry, I know I should be ecstatic that someone has posted my bail, but I keep getting the feeling that something is very wrong with this whole set-up.” A wary expression filled Myra’s eyes.
Myra, Cassie and Mac sat together drinking tea in the small side room of Myra’s shop, Nature’s Way. Advertised as a natural herb store, it was no secret that Myra also kept a stock of more unusual items, items that she and her followers used in their special ceremonies.
One of the biggest customer attractions of the shop was the small room where the three now sat, the room where Myra read Tarot cards. Now, instead of a spread of Tarot cards, a lovely antique tea service was set upon the table. The aromatic scent of one of Myra’s specially blended herb teas drifted on the slow moving air currents, helping to soothe jangled nerves.
Mac sat back in his chair, absent-mindedly stirring his tea. After taking one sip, he decided he would rather stir it all night than actually ingest the stuff.
Thou gh his slumped posture and half- closed eyes gave him a look of total indifference, nothing could be further from the truth. His mind had not been so alive in months, no years. He saw everything and questioned everything he saw. In fact, he had so many questions battling each other in his brain, it was nearly all he could do to maintain his insolently lazy facade. But he managed. It was his persona, and one that had served him well over the years. He studied Myra without allowing a shadow of his thoughts to reach his face. The more he watched her, the more fascinated he became. She was something else, all right. But a murderer? Possibly, but somehow he doubted it.
Still dressed in the clothes she had been wearing when she had been arrested two days before, any other woman would have looked a mess. Not so Myra Adams. On her, the rumpled cream colored slacks and matching sweater looked fabulous. Mac doubted that the woman could put on anything that would detract from her dark beauty.
Her looks and obvious charm explained a lot to him, the first being Alan Boatright’s
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