Rachel and I sat in the car across the street from the Mortime house. Julie had driven her own car, and now she was in our backseat—after shoving aside all the trash a P.I. accumulates doing surveillance—watching with us.
The house was three stories tall, old red brick and faded blue paint peeling off the window trim. A small front yard had two trees. A narrow walk led to a side door and the back yard.
“Is he there?” Julie’s face was taut.
No lights in the windows. I checked the car clock. 4:15. “Depends on if he started his rounds early today. Or skipped them.” I looked at Rachel. “Any idea?”
She looked like she wanted to kick me. “I’m good, but not at long distances.”
Marcus had stayed in his store in case Lavoy showed up unexpectedly. Rachel and I were pretty sure we could trust him, but I didn’t want to bet on his ability to fool his friend—and boss—for very long.
At least we had the key.
Rain streamed down as we opened the car doors and crossed the slick street, and thunder rumbled. It sounded far away, a distant warning trumpet, but I didn’t want to waste any time.
We climbed the front steps. I pushed the key into the lock. The doorknob turned reluctantly, and I peeked inside.
No lights on inside. The living room opened on the left side of a short foyer, and there was a sitting room to the right. We headed down the hall, walking quietly, the small flashlight on my keychain poking at the shadows.
Marcus said that Mortime kept his collection of weather-related antiques on the third floor—where they went to smoke weed, too. We checked the kitchen and other rooms in case Lavoy had moved stuff, then climbed the stairs at the back of the hall.
The second floor was bedrooms. None of them looked like they’d been slept in lately, so Lavoy probably wasn’t living here. No sign of the book or any magical artifacts that we could see, or that Rachel could sense.
Up on the third floor, I fumbled around for a light switch. It turned on two lamps in the cobwebbed corners, revealing an attic crammed with old curios. Two wrought-iron sundials, three sextants, a barometer from centuries past, and other stuff I couldn’t recognize. Several large maps of north and south America from the 18th and 19th centuries were pinned to the walls, some more accurate than others. An astrolabe with half the planets in the solar system sat on a small table.
A plastic card table sat in the center of the room, with a metal folding chair beneath it. On it sat a white candle next to a box of wooden matches, a large compass, a glass-bulb thermometer, a modern barometer, and an old-fashioned watch on a silver chain.
The objects were arranged in a circle. As if something was missing in the center. Rachel reached past me and placed her hand on the table.
“Yeah.” She rubbed her hands. “It was here. Right in the center.”
“So where is it?” I looked around.
A small bookcase sat next to the door. We crouched around it, but it held only a few old books of maps, a couple of college textbooks, and some paperback bestsellers.
Julie stood up. “It’s not here.”
“He must keep it somewhere else. Maybe he carries it around in that briefcase.” I was annoyed and nervous. We were trespassing, committing illegal entry if not actually breaking and entering because we had a key—and we’d come up empty.
On the other hand, Mortime wasn’t around to complain. The only person who might find us was Lavoy. Would he call the police if he walked in on us? Or could he shoot lightning from his fingertips now? I didn’t want to find out.
“Grab that stuff.” I pointed at the table. “Maybe he needs it to bring down the lightning. I don’t know. Let’s just get out of—”
“What the hell?”
Not Lavoy. A woman’s voice. I swung around, startled.
She was in her 30s, with shoulder-length blond hair and wide blue eyes glistening with anger. She held her phone high, taking video.
“H-hello,” I said nervously. “I can explain—”
“Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my dad’s house? Why are you stealing his things?”
Dad? “Harold Mortime was your father?”
She pointed her phone at me. “Yeah? Who are you?”
I took a chance. “My name’s Tom Jurgen. I’m a private detective. Have you been letting Alan Lavoy into this house? I saw him here a few nights ago.”
“Alan—” She stepped back. “He was a friend of my father. Sort of. What’s he got to do with you guys?”
“He’s my ex-husband.” Julie pushed past Rachel to stand next to me. “Or he will be soon. He killed my boyfriend.”
The phone in the woman’s hand shook. “Wait, what? What are you—”
I said, “He took a book from your father, Ms., uhh . . .?”
“Dawn. Dawn Mortime. I live down the street, I saw lights up here—” She stopped the video. “I’m calling him.” She started tapping at her screen.
“Wait.” Rachel held up a hand. “Before you say anything, ask him about the book.”
Dawn Mortime was wary. Not without reason, of course. She had three strangers staring at her. But she asked, “What book?”
“It’s called The Weathermonger’s Codex,” I said. “A friend of his stole it from your father.”
She tilted her head. “Yeah, okay. I remember that book. What friend?”
I hesitated. “Just ask.”
The phone was already buzzing. She held it to her ear. “Alan? Yeah, it’s me. Look, there are some people here—” She looked at me. “They’re asking about a book? They say you have it? It’s called, uh, The Weathermonger’s Code?”
“Codex,” I said. Rachel jabbed me with her elbow.
“Codex. What? Well, his says his name is Tom something—”
“Jurgen.” Another jab from Rachel. “What? She’s got us.”
“And two chicks. One of them says she’s your ex. She says—” Dawn stopped before repeating the accusation of murder. “Anyway, should I call the police?”
We waited. Then she said, “Okay,” and hung up.
She put her phone away. “He’s coming over. He says he can explain about the book. Not to call the cops. What’s going on?”
I sighed. My policy is to tell the truth about all the weird stuff I run into, vampires or werewolves or whatever, whether I’m talking to cops or civilians, and let them decide what they want to believe. People are usually more open to the supernatural that you might expect, I’d found.
So I said, “Your father had a book that apparently let him control the weather. Alan Lavoy got his hands on it, and I think he’s using it to murder people with lightning. Like his ex’s boyfriend—” I glanced at Julie—"and the other people who’ve been struck by lightning around the city in the last few days.”
Dawn stared at me. For a moment I thought she was going to call paramedics to haul us away in straightjackets. Instead she said, “Huh.” Then she put her phone away. “Come on downstairs. I’ll make tea.”
She heated cups in the microwave. Sitting around the table, we chose teabags from a jar. Rain streamed down the windows outside.
“Dad was—kinda weird. Toward the end, it was the dementia. But even before that, when we were growing up—I’ve got a brother in New York—Dad was always into offbeat stuff. He told us ghost stories during thunderstorms. He took us chasing tornadoes once, but Mom made him stop after that. And he liked collecting things, weather things. You saw’em upstairs. There’s lots more around the place. I’m trying to find someplace to donate them.”
“How did you meet Alan Lavoy?” I dangled my bad in the hot water.
“He visited my dad a few times when I was over. He, um, asked me out.” She shot a shy look at Julie. “I just met him for coffee a few times, nothing else. He never mentioned—you know.”
“Redburn?” Rachel asked.
Dawn nodded. “He said he owned the place. And a bunch more.”
Julie snorted. “Figures.”
“Anyway, when Dad died last week, he called me about buying this place.” She rubbed her eyes. “It was weird. I mean, just two days after—it happened. We haven’t even had a funeral yet. I’m waiting for it to stop raining before I schedule anything. But I was surprised. It’s not like he and my dad were close friends. I guess he had Dad in a class one time? I told him I couldn’t even think about anything right now, and he said fine and hung up.”
“Do you know a man named Marcus Diego?” I asked. “He’s a friend of Lavoy.”
Dawn thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I—I don’t think so. Who’s that?”
“He got the book for Lavoy. And copied a key he found outside so Lavoy could get in here. That’s how we, uh, got in tonight.”
Dawn frowned at me. “I might still call the police on you. I’m not sure I believe any of this. But that guy gives me the creeps.”
The doorbell buzzed. A crack of thunder hit at the same moment. Rachel and I looked at each other.
“So what do we do now?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Get the book somehow.”
Dawn stood up. “Come on. I’m not meeting him alone.”
In the foyer she unlocked the door. I guess Lavoy didn’t want her to know he had a key. He pushed his way inside, his raincoat soaking wet, and dropped an umbrella on the floor. He kept his briefcase tight in his hand.
“Okay.” Lavoy started unbuttoning his raincoat. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?” He glared at me. Then he saw Julie. “Oh. Hi, Julie.”
“Alan.” She crossed her arms.
Dawn kept her phone in her hand. “Alan, these guys are saying some weird stuff about you.”
“It’s all true. About the lightning.” He threw his raincoat on the floor over his wet umbrella. “What do you want?”
I wanted the book, but I wasn’t ready to wrestle him for it. “Look, we know what you’re doing. We can’t—”
But Julie broke in. “I want to see how you did it.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“How you killed Warren. How you work the lightning.”
Lavoy shook his head. “I don’t know—”
“Show me how you did it! With the book. And everything.”
I shifted on my feet. “Julie—”
“Shut up! You’re working for me! He killed Warren, and we can’t tell the police about it, so the least this bastard can do is show me how it works!”
Yeah, she was my client, but that didn’t mean she owned me. Still, I was curious to see it too.
Lavoy sighed. “Call your lawyer off. Stop trying to bleed me dry. Just give me the divorce.”
Julie nodded. “All right.”
Rachel left Julie for me. “What are we going to do?” she whispered as Lavoy and Julie headed down the hall.
“Watch him.” I didn’t have a plan. Maybe something would occur to me. “You’ve got your stuff?” She always carries some pepper spray and a Taser with her, especially when we’re going out for work.
She patted the purse slung over her shoulder. “Right here.”
Upstairs Lavoy pulled the chair out from under the table, opened his briefcase, and dropped the book on the table. I couldn’t read the language on the cover. The pages looked dry and brittle.
Julie stood next to his shoulder. Rachel and I stayed near the door.
Dawn stood across from him, her phone back in her hand. “I’m filming this.”
Lavoy didn’t seem to care. He opened the book to a page marked with a Post-It. “This is it.” He struck a wooden match and lit the candle. Then he leaned back. “Okay, who do you want to kill?” He smirked.
“How does it work?” I asked. “You just say his name?”
He tapped a blank space in the middle of the wrinkled page. “It says you need to put something personal right here. According to Harold. I can’t read this gunk, Latin or whatever it is. But he said it works with a picture. It even works with a phone.” He reached into his pocket. “Like this.”
He tapped the photos. I didn’t recognize the face, but Julie flinched. “Warren.”
“Yep.”
Julie backed away and pulled her phone. She held it up to Lavoy’s face and snapped a picture. Then she dropped the phone on the book, her eyes fierce.
Lavoy laughed. “That’s not it. I have to say the spell. And then it doesn’t come in through the window, you have to wait until the guy is outside, and there’s a thunderstorm. Good for me, the weather’s been crappy lately. Climate change, I guess.” He grinned.
I looked at Rachel. “Is this guy evil inside?”
She closed her eyes. “A little. Mostly he’s just a sociopathic asshole.”
Lavoy slammed a fist on the table, shaking the candle. “I’m trying to make a living! The goddamn pandemic makes it impossible to keep a business open! And you—” He jabbed a finger at Julie. “You never supported me! You never believed in me! Then you started screwing around with that—”
“That was after I caught you with that girl! And threw you out!”
“This is why cops hate domestic violence calls,” I said. “Everybody stop yelling—”
“This isn’t a domestic argument! He killed Warren!” Julie stalked forward.
“And my father!” Dawn put her phone down and pulled the book to her.
Lavoy pushed his chair back. Before he could stand up, Julie rushed him, knocking him over and pummeling her fists at his head. Rachel and I started toward them. I wasn’t too sympathetic toward Lavoy, but didn’t want to see my client beat him to death.
Then Lavoy rolled over, swearing, and reared up. With a pistol in his hand.
I backed away, pulling Rachel. Julie scooted away on her knees.
His face red, Lavoy struggled to his feet, breathing hard. “Goddamn it.” He pointed the gun at us, then at Julie. Then he dropped his arm and let it point at the floor. “The hell with all of you. You, give me my book!”
Dawn looked up from the book, saw the handgun, and jumped away, hands high. “F-fine. Take it. Get out of here.”
Lavoy grabbed the book and shoved it into his briefcase, still clutching his handgun. He took one final look at Julie, and I held my breath, preparing to launch myself at him if he tried to shoot her. Rachel’s fingers dug into my shoulder.
But Lavoy put the pistol away, cursing again. He blew the candle out and started stuffing everything onto the table into his briefcase. He couldn’t close it, but he lifted it and staggered past Rachel and me to the door.
He glared at me. “Fucking P.I. piece of shit. And your fucking girlfriend too.”
I raised an arm, fist clenched. But Rachel kept her grip on my shoulder, her fingers sharp and strong. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she hissed. “Asshole’s not worth it.”
Lavoy shook his head and left.
I swallowed, trying to catch my breath as my heart dropped close to normal. “Thanks,” I told Rachel. “You all right?”
She slugged my arm. “Let me do the hitting if we need to, all right?”
“Just trying to defend your honor.” I turned to Julie. “You okay?”
She got to her feet. “I should have just—”
Then the thunder roared, like a bomb going off right outside. A sharp flash of light filled the window.
“Oh my god.” Dawn darted to the stairs.
We followed, Rachel and me right behind her, with Julie at our tails. On the ground floor Dawn dashed down the hall, and we reached her side as she flung open the door.
Alan Lavoy lay on the sidewalk, his body smoldering as rain fell on him.
“What the—” I looked at Rachel. “He had the book. He needed to speak the spell—”
“I—I did it.” Dawn’s face was pale.
She shut the door and leaned against it, her body sagging. “You guys were fighting. Her phone was in the right spot, with his picture. I—I didn’t really think it would work. It was just a few words . . .”
Dawn sank down until she was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, her breath shallow. I peered through the window next to the door.
Lavoy’s body was motionless on the concrete. A dog nosed his foot until its owner yanked him back on the leash. A woman with him pulled out her phone to call 911.
Dawn shook her head. “He killed my father.”
The paramedics tried to revive him, but Lavoy was gone. They carried him away on a stretcher, and one of them took our information. They didn’t ask many questions, because they weren’t cops. None of us told them about the book. Julie told them Lavoy was her ex-husband, and they’d been arguing when he left.
But it wasn’t a homicide, at least not in their eyes. They left.
Julie left, shaken up but steady on her feet. “I didn’t think—I just wanted him out of my life. Warren and me—I don’t know . . .” She choked back a few tears. “I’ll—be in touch with Lenore, I guess.”
She avoided the spot on the sidewalk where lightning had killed Lavoy.
Dawn went back into the kitchen for more tea. “It was just—I wasn’t thinking. I was just so mad.” She picked up our cups. “You want some?”
“No thanks,” Rachel said. “Come on, Tom.”
We left her at the sink, rinsing. I hoped she’d be all right. Killing someone—even with a spell you didn’t really understand—could scar someone forever. I knew.
Back home we changed out of our wet clothes. I opened beers for us. “Who’s turn for dinner?”
“Screw it, we’ll order pizza.” Rachel was in sweats and a T-shirt on the couch. “That was weird.”
“Yeah.” I sipped my beer. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told him to show us how the spell worked.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t have started killing people.” She patted my arm. “Not your fault.”
“Yeah.” I’d still feel guilty, though.
She leaned forward to look past me at the window. “Hey, it stopped raining.”
I turned my head. Late afternoon sunlight was turning the sky purple. “Finally.”
“Yeah.” Rachel picked up the remote. “Doom Patrol?”
I picked up my phone to order the pizza. “Sounds good to me.”
###
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